Wish You Were Here
by Howling Thunder
Summary: FraidyCat & The Silent Rumble doubleteam our favorite whumpee. Special guest appearance by Oswald.
1. The Discovery

**A/N: Here's a surprise for you! "Howling Thunder" is actually two of us, both with our own fan fic histories: The Silent Rumble and FraidyCat! (We figured if dHall & AliceI were our heroes, we should try to emulate their success.) Fans approaching a state of panic should relax. We both intend to continue writing under our own names, as well. But hey. This sounds like fun, too! Enjoy!**

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**Title: Wish You Were Here**

**Author: Howling Thunder**

**Summary: Charlie finds a protégé, and enjoys being the "Big Brother" for once. Until he finds out first-hand the kind of trouble Little Brothers can drag a person into.**

**Disclaimer: It causes us a great deal of distress, but Howling Thunder admits that CBS et al got to Don and Charlie before we did. This disclaimer is active for the duration of this fan fiction. Please refer to it whenever you are confused.**

**A/N: This fic was started BEFORE the recent epi in which Oswald decides to apply to CalSci. So, pretend it happens this way. (More importantly, please don't e-mail us telling us that it didn't.) Finally, please note that we bear no grudges against the Chicago Police Department; we had to pick somewhere!**

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**Chapter 1: The Discovery**

Oswald Kittner was still buttoning the fly of his jeans as he raced down the hallway to Charlie's hotel room. The housekeeper seemed to find it quite entertaining. He just tossed her a goofy look. "What?" he asked, hurrying past.

To be honest, if he had suspected that she lurked just outside his own hotel room, he would have finished dressing inside. But when he rolled over and focused on the digital bedside clock, and figured out that they were late already for the first session this morning, an odd sense of panic propelled Oswald into the fastest exit of his life.

The sense of panic was odd, because he wasn't used to caring about things like schedules, and math symposiums. His father had never wanted him, and his mother had died in an automobile accident when he was only four. Finally, his paternal grandmother had taken him in, but she didn't want to be raising another child at this stage of her life, either. It seemed like all they ever did was fight. It was not a stage either of them grew out of, and when he was 16, he gave up. He had become involved in fantasy sports teams, and made a decent amount of money betting on them. He dropped out of school, dropped out of life, and made his own way.

He started pounding on Charlie's door. He was surprised that Dr. Eppes had not dragged him out of bed hours ago. They had missed breakfast, and part of a presentation he had believed the man was looking forward to – maybe he didn't know this guy as well as he thought.

Not that Oswald thought they were suddenly best buds, or anything. But a few months ago, when his fantasy baseball stat theories had turned into a nightmare and almost gotten him killed, Charlie was really nice to him. He defended him to the FBI until his brother, an agent, started listening. He had let Oswald stay in his garage a few days. Even when the case was over, he continued to check on Oswald and encourage him to develop his natural gifts in mathematics. Early in their relationship, Oswald had "Googled" him, and figured out the guy knew what he was talking about. There were still frequent moments, caught up in a discussion with Charlie, when Oswald would suddenly think, _"I'm a high school dropout discussing emergence theory with the full-fledged genius who is currently developing a concept that will change education forever. This is insane."_

It was hard for Oswald to believe the things Charlie told him. The professor insisted that Oswald could walk right into classes in a place like CalSci, where he taught, and hold his own. Oswald just didn't think he had the discipline for that kind of life. Still, Charlie had invited him to Chicago, to this freaky math symposium. Oswald hadn't even known what a symposium was. Charlie was scheduled to introduce his cognitive emergence theory, though, and he kind-of wanted to hear it. Besides, it wasn't like he had a real job to worry about right now, anyway. So Oswald had tagged along, hoping to somehow convince Charlie, while they were in Chicago, that there was more to life than math.

He intended to have some fun.

Which Charlie had let him do, last night. The Doctor's presentation had gone well earlier that day. Oswald had been impressed. Charlie spoke in such a way that, even largely uneducated, he was able to follow the idea. Yet the room full of other doctors and mathematicians did not seem bored. That must be a fine line to trod. Charlie had invited Oswald to join him, when some of the other teacher-people wanted to take him out for drinks and dinner to celebrate. Now that he was 21, Oswald was old enough to join them, but he had a couple of problems. One, he honestly felt that the guy deserved some time…doing whatever he did, with his peers. He really seemed to feed off that, and he didn't need to be worry about including Oswald. Two, while he was cool with the idea that the evening he was describing would be fun for Charlie – Oswald thought he would have a lot more fun at Hardrock Café. So the two had gone their separate ways.

Oswald banged harder on Charlie's door, and called his name. He didn't know what time Charlie got back to his room, but he had not fallen into his own hotel bed until almost 4 a.m. Even then, he hadn't fallen in alone…. So it was no wonder he overslept. Maybe the dude was angry. He had seemed okay with Oswald not going to his dinner thing last night, but maybe he was just pretending, or something. He might have decided to punish him by letting him miss the morning sessions, even though he had earlier told Oswald that he would find them especially interesting.

Oswald hesitated, and almost turned to go back to his own room. It just didn't fit, though. Charlie had been really decent to him, and while he did not know him very well yet, Oswald had never seen anything that might suggest he could hold a grudge like that. At the last second, he decided to try the door. They were staying in an older hotel, because the one next door where the math thing was had been full. This one still had old-fashioned doorknob access to the rooms, rather than key card admission.

Oswald swallowed in a sudden and chilling apprehension, when the door swung inward. It was unlocked. He felt goosebumps rise on his arms as he called out one more time. "Charlie? Dr. Eppes, I'm coming in, okay?"

He pushed the door open farther, and stood in silent shock. The room was empty of Charlie, and trashed. Completely trashed. The desk and chairs had been upturned. The sheets and blankets had been dragged off the bed, and the mattress was flipped onto its side. The bathroom door stood open, and Oswald could see broken glass on the floor in there. He took one tentative half-step inside, and got a better view of the bathroom. When he did, he saw more than broken glass.

He was pretty sure that was a pool of blood.


	2. The Panic

**WYWH, Chapter 2: The Panic**

Oswald panicked. What had happened? How had this happened? _What_ had happened… wait, hadn't he already asked that question?

It didn't really matter, though. None of the questions were getting him anywhere. Glancing around the room, he saw Charlie's cell phone lying on the floor near the bed. It suddenly occurred to him that he should call Charlie's brother, the FBI dude. He was good. He had kept Oswald alive, back during the baseball stats thing, and he knew the brothers were close. Don would know what to do.

He rapidly crossed to the phone and scrolled through the "Names" list until he found Don. He hit the "Send" button. His immediate relief upon hearing Don's voice was quickly replaced with frustration when he realized it was voice mail. "Crap," he said, aloud. Deciding that wasn't much of a message, he added more. "Um…Agent Eppes, this is Charlie's friend, Oswald. Things are messed up, man. I need you to call, okay? I've got Charlie's phone, so just call him." He considered, then added a little more. "Uh… thanks, I guess."

He flipped the phone shut, stepped around the displaced mattress and sank down on the box springs still in the bed frame. He buried his face in his hands. He could only think one coherent thought, and he kept thinking it over, and over: _What am I gonna do?_

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Don groaned as he rolled over and slammed his alarm clock before it went off. Something else had already awoken him, and he was afraid he knew what. There was either a mosquito in his ear, or his cell phone had almost vibrated off the nightstand. He must have forgotten to take if off "Silent" when he got in last night. He looked at the clock again. This morning. When he got in _this morning_, after he was called to a crime scene last night. He had only been in bed three hours.

He was tempted to ignore the phone, but then he sighed and grabbed it. Maybe something had gone wrong on the case, already. He checked his messages. "Let's see… one from Larry, one from Megan…. " He smiled. The last one was from Charlie, who was off at some math thing with his young friend Oswald, in Chicago. Charlie was not going to give up on convincing that kid to become a mathematician. For all his brother's brilliance with numbers, he must have forgotten about the time difference between their locations, to call Don at 7:30 in the morning.

Megan's call came before he had seen her at the crime scene. It was way too early to deal with Larry. So it was easy to decide which message to listen to first. He frowned when he didn't hear Charlie's voice, but Oswald's. By the time Oswald got to "Things are messed up, man," Don was sitting up on the edge of his bed, gripping the cell tightly.

As soon as Oswald's message finished playing, he hit the speed dial for Charlie. He groaned when the voice mail favor was returned. Not knowing who to leave a message for, he just flipped the phone shut, and stood. He pulled on his clothes as quickly as he could, and then left a message for Megan at the office, saying he might be late this morning.

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Don shook his head, trying to clear some fog. He sat at his kitchen counter, nursing a cold cup of yesterday's coffee, and called his father. He hoped Oswald wasn't too serious about anything, and that it had been some miscommunication. Charlie had been late, or something.

Alan answered on the second ring. "Donnie! Good morning, son. Have you heard from your brother?"

Don hesitated. He guessed that answered his own question. "I was going to ask you that."

Alan's voice took on a note of worry. "Why?"

Okay. He didn't need to deal with a panicked father, on top of everything else. "Nothing, Dad, I just got a voice mail…missed his call. So I was wondering, you know…um…how things were going?"

Alan seemed a little calmer when he answered. "I thought he'd call last night. He was presenting his paper, yesterday afternoon. I haven't heard from him since the night before."

_Things are messed up, man._ Don remembered Oswald's words, and the feeling of unease they had started within him grew. He tried to reassure his father. "Probably surrounded by groupies all night. Math rock star. I should…get to work."

Alan chuckled. "If you talk to Charlie, have him call me. Be careful today, Don."

"I always am, Dad," Don promised. They said their goodbyes and disconnected. Don tried Charlie's number again. If Oswald called him, it wasn't just because Charlie was late. It was because something serious was happening. No matter how much he tried to tell himself it wasn't major, he knew it was. "Dammit," he muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair.

This time, Oswald answered. He sounded scared. "Yeah?"

"Oswald, this is Don. Eppes. Let me talk to Charlie."

"Did you call before? I heard the phone, man, but I was on the hotel phone. I called 9-1-1, but they put me on friggin' _hold_, dude. I just hung up when Charlie's phone rang again."

Don's heart leapt in his chest. "9-1-1? What's wrong? Let me talk to Charlie!"

Oswald sighed on the other end of the connection. "Gonna have a problem with that, man."

Don spoke in his interrogation voice. "Tell me. Now."

"I don't know!", responded Oswald in a wail. "I came down to the professor's room this morning. It was after 9 already, and I thought we both overslept. But the door is unlocked, man, and the room is trashed. There's glass, and some blood, and Charlie's not here…" He took a breath and hurried on. "I saw his phone on the floor, so I called you. I wasn't sure what else to do…" His voice trailed off at the end.

Don squeezed his eyes shut. Charlie was missing, somebody had bled in his room, and Oswald was destroying all the evidence. "Oswald, listen, don't touch anything else. Go back to your own room, and call 9-1-1 again. The police will probably want Charlie's phone, so you program my number into yours before they get there, okay?" He grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and scrambled for the napkins. "Give me your cell number."

Oswald did, and Don repeated it back to him. "When's the last time you saw Charlie?", he asked.

"Yesterday afternoon," responded Oswald. "He went out with some other old people, and I headed out for Hardrock. This is just wrong, man, he really wanted me to hear the guy speaking this morning."

Despite his growing concern, Don couldn't help smiling a little when Oswald described Charlie as "old". He'd have to remember that, and tell Charlie — as soon as they found him. He made a decision. "Listen, Oswald, I'm grabbing the first flight out there. You just do what the police say until I get there, all right?"

Relief came through the cell phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I'll see you later, man."

Don disconnected. He stood and started to grab the phone book, then decided to just go to the airport. He didn't want to take the time to pack anything, but forced himself.

Halfway to LAX, he remembered to call the office.


	3. Little Brothers Come With Migraines

**WYWH, Chapter 3: Little Brothers Come with Migraines**

Don's head throbbed already, as he hurtled down the freeway toward LAX and shoved the hands-free cell phone attachment into his ear, positioning the mic near his mouth. "Office," he barked into the air, both hands clutching the wheel. He had gone almost five more miles before he managed to navigate his way through the automated system at work, and speak to the Officer of the Day. He explained that he was on his way out of town on a family emergency, and would need to use some leave time. The OD, familiar with Don's work ethic and staring at all the vacation, personal and comp time the computer was telling him was Don's due, was not hard to convince. He granted a week without an argument, told Don to call back if he needed more, promised to let his team know, and wished him luck.

He sighed, rubbed his aching head, and thought about calling Alan again. Something told him that call would not go as well. He needed to concentrate on his driving, so he decided to wait until he got to the airport. He'd have more to tell him then, anyway.

But once he reached the airport, he really didn't feel like calling, right away. His headache was threatening to expand into a full-grown migraine. He was starting to see odd rainbow-colored halos around any light he stared at for too long, and he was getting irritated. If Charlie was just playing some ridiculous prank on Oswald, he was going to make him wish he really was missing.

Crappy service didn't make his headache any better, and neither did the strangers he saw lurking at seemingly every corner. He could move from irritated to pissed, if he wanted. He could be really, easily, pissed.

He thought for certain he saw someone like Charlie, and got himself so worked up, he walked over there – all to find out it was a woman. She was standing in line at a United ticket counter, and Don figured that was as good as any. He stood behind her and rubbed his head again. "The things your eyes can do when you're stressed," he thought to himself. "It's his own damn fault. Needs to cut his hair." It was almost another 10 minutes before he finally reached first place in line at the ticket counter.

The blond at the counter, who looked slightly vapid, smiled. "Good morning. My name is Bambi, and I would be happy to help you this morning, sir."

"Donald Eppes," Don answered automatically. "I need a flight to Chicago, pronto."

"One second," she said. "Okay, most of our first-class flights are booked, so if you want to fly first class, you'll have to wait two days. Is that okay?"

"I never said it had to be first class!" Don snapped. "I need the next available flight."

"Well, one just left," she said, looking at her computer screen.

Don was sure his head would explode and blow brains all over her $200 make-up job. He almost looked forward to it. "Perhaps you could give me some details? The next available flight, maybe?" He didn't even try to keep the sarcasm from dripping from his voice.

"But I thought you didn't want to fly first class," she said, stopping her work and looking at him, confused.

Okay. So she was a natural blonde. Good to know. Don skipped over his interrogation voice and went straight for the Big Guns. "Just tell me," he growled in his best Big-Brother, Don't-Mess-With-My-Family voice, emphasizing his words with a fist on the counter, "When… The… Next… Damn… Freaking… Flight… is!"

"Okay, relax, sir," she said, in her best Let's Calm Down and Be Happy voice, the one they trained her to use at the airline academy. "I can get you on a flight in one hour. It will be in coach. Will that work?"

"Yes, book me for that flight."

"Okay, I'll need your ID and your passport."

Don reached for his wallet. As he fumbled through it, looking for his license, what she said hit him. He glanced back at her. "Passport? Since when do you need a passport to fly to Chicago?"

The woman blushed prettily and giggled. "Chicago? Geez. Could have sworn you said Cuba, for some reason. Let me start over."

Don considered the nausea that was backing up his migraine. With little effort, he could throw up all over this ditzy bitch. He was imaging the ensuing scene when she spoke again. "Okay. We've got lots of flights to Chicago. I can get you on a non-stop, business class. Flight 3732, departs in one hour. Will that work?"

Don shoved his license and a credit card at her in answer. He was suddenly without words, when she had told him the flight number: 3732. His age, and Charlie's age. How weird was that? He groaned, quietly. Until then, he hadn't really had a chance to think about his brother being missing. You know, _really_ being missing. _Where the hell are you, Buddy?_

While he waited for TSA airport security to search the one carry-on bag he had brought, he checked the voice mail from Larry. The thought had suddenly occurred to him that maybe Larry had heard from Charlie, or something. Unfortunately, it turned out to be some astro-physics-dynamics crap. Don had no idea what most of it was about, but he was pretty sure Larry had hit the wrong speed dial on his phone, again. He must have thought he was calling Charlie. He laughed a little, thinking about the ditzy ticket agent, and comparing her to Larry. Maybe it wasn't because she was a blond. Maybe she was really an astro physicist.

The TSA rep waved him through the metal detector. Don felt somewhat…naked…without his service weapon and his back-up ankle piece, but he knew he'd never get them on a flight he wasn't on in his official capacity. Still, he had brought his badge. He would check out a piece from the Chicago PD. When he had collected his badge, watch, pocket change and carry-on back from TSA, he walked another 10 minutes to his gate.

He sat down wearily, checking the clock on the wall. It was already almost 11:00 a.m. Boarding would begin soon. Better yet, his Dad should be down at the shelter, helping prepare to serve lunch. Even with his consulting business picking up, Alan still made sure to make time for his volunteer work.

Don snapped open his phone, and soon reached Alan's voice mail. No sense in worrying the guy. "Dad, I had to leave town unexpectedly. I'm at the airport, now. I'm not sure when I'll be back. You take it easy, and call my cell if you need something. Love you, Dad." Don sighed. That was easy. No questions. No lies. And it was remarkable how easy it was to say the "L" word, to a machine.

He heard the boarding for his flight begin, and Don stood and walked slowly to the gate, while he left virtually the same message on the answering machine at the house. Could never be too sure Dad would check his voice mail – although he was getting better at it. Whenever he could find his phone.

Don pocketed his cell and took his place in the boarding line. He truly hoped there was some aspirin in the overnight bag he had thrown into his carry-on. He always kept a toothbrush and toothpaste in there. Some actacids. He tried to remember. Please, God, let there be aspirin.

In the aircraft, he held up the boarding line while he did a quick search of his carry-on, before loading it into the overhead compartment. Great. No friggin' aspirin. He grabbed his wallet as he sat down, and snatched a five out of it.

No aspirin?

Then he'd better had a drink in his hand before they even took off.

**FraidyCat A/N: Turns out the rainbow halos and "migraines" were actually Glaucoma. Who'dve thought? (If I were you, I would look for one of the brothers to develop that in a story soon...)**


	4. Not A Good Idea to Make Him Mad

**WYWH, Chapter 4: Not a Good Idea to Make Him Mad**

Oswald nervously looked from the skinny cop who reminded him slightly of himself to the overweight, red-faced, sweating one; the one who kept pacing the room, and occasionally slamming his fist onto the table. He must be playing "Bad Cop."

No one had said anything for several seconds, so Oswald shifted a little in the chair and bit the bullet. "Somebody's looking for Dr. Eppes, right?"

On cue, the tubby cop leaned over and pounded the table. "Don't think you won't be paying for every second of department time you waste, Smart Boy! Tell us where you dumped him now, and we can make this go down a little easier!"

Oswald jerked away from the snarling face and appealed to the other man. "I keep telling you, I didn't do anything! I don't know where Dr. Eppes is! Why would I do something to him, and then call 9-1-1?"

The thin man, sitting on the opposite side of the interrogation room table, leaned forward toward Oswald. He looked as if it truly broke his heart to say the words. "Mr. Kittner…Oswald…it's all right if I call you Oswald?"

The terrified boy-man nodded, even while he told himself they were playing him. The thin cop continued. "Oswald, we've already got your prints all over the room. On the door knob, the telephone. Lab results aren't in yet, but we're pretty sure we have fibers from your clothing, and your hair, on the bed. Forensics matched the sole of your shoe to a print found just outside the bathroom, in the wet carpet." If possible, the man's face took on an even more sympathetic look. "I can imagine what happened, kid. This guy takes you out of town, shows you a good time for a few days, and then he makes a move on you. You find out he wasn't really interested in you for your brain. The two of you struggle – maybe it was an accident. But after, you panic. You dump the body, and call us in, thinking that will make you look like less of a suspect." The morose policeman frowned, leaning back a little in his chair. "But you panicked, son. You forgot about all that evidence."

Oswald blanched and shoved his chair back, leaping to his feet. "No! No, you guys are crazy! I told you, I just went to his room because we were late!" The lard cop huffed his way over to him and pushed him, none too gently back into the chair. Still, Oswald looked into his face and protested. "Why would he do that? Dr. Eppes is a well-known math…mathema…math guy. He would never do that!"

Sweat from the gigantic cop actually bounced off Oswald's arm. "Not back in L.A. he wouldn't, no. Too much risk. So he brings you here, gets rooms in a separate hotel from where the conference is being held…"

Oswald buried his face in his hands. "No! Please, listen to me! That was my fault, because I couldn't decide whether or not to come to this thing. By the time I said I would, the other place was full!" He looked up again, at the sad cop, and allowed his voice to become plaintive. "Why are you guys doing this? Why do you keep talking about a body? Was there that much blood, or did you find a bullet, or something?"

The fat one leaned on the table, and Oswald heard it creak. He was waiting for it to crash to the floor when the guy shoved a stubby finger at him. "You're wasting my time, kid. You're gonna be sorry you did that."

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Don took a cab straight to the hotel, and used his FBI ID to bluff his way into Charlie's room. He looked around, saw the signs of struggle, and the blood in the bathroom. He looked around again. Something just didn't look right. He got what information he could from the officers on site, then went down the hall to talk to Oswald.

He banged on the door for almost two minutes, and was about to give up, when it finally opened a crack. A tiny redhead with bright green, terrified eyes gazed a foot up at him. "You a cop?", she whispered. "Where's Oswald? When can I leave? I don't know nuthin."

Don's mouth hung open. "I…is this Oswald Kittner's room?"

She nodded, then shrugged. "Dunno his last name." She glanced down the hall beyond Don at the activity around Charlie's room, and began to whine. "Look, I just met the guy last night. At Hardrock. We had a good time. He dances like a geek, but still…I didn't have to work this morning, so I came back to his hotel with him." She blushed. "We messed around a little, ya know? Finally fell asleep around 5:30, I think the clock said. Next thing I know, he's screaming something about being late and jumps out of bed like his shorts are on fire. Not that he was wearing any."

"Where is he now?", demanded Don.

She tossed her mane of red hair. "Man, I got up and went into the bathroom. I heard him bust back in here, and when I came out, he was on the phone with the cops." Her voice took on a disgusted tone. "I shoulda left then, but he was so freaked out. It was kind-of cute. So I waited until the cops got here. They took him down the hall, and told me to wait here." She grew petulant, again. "That was HOURS ago. I was starting to think you guys forgot all about me."

Don sighed and looked at the floor. He had just come from Charlie's room, and Oswald was not there. He'd been in law enforcement for years, he knew what that meant — they were wasting time questioning Oswald, ignoring his alibi, and taking manpower away from the hunt. He looked back at the girl. "You got a purse, or something? We're going downtown."

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Oswald was tired, hungry, confused and worried.

He kept telling these guys the same story, over and over. At first he had just been concerned about Charlie, but now he was getting a little worried about himself. They said they had evidence. He watched television, occasionally. He knew what that meant. He could end up in prison!

He was starting to hyperventilate a little when the door to the interrogation room opened. Both cops looked up, surprised. Somebody important stood there. Oswald could tell from his suit, and from the way the first two guys listened to him. "The kid has an alibi," he said. "Kick him loose."

The house-sized detective looked like someone was trying to steal his puppy. "Wha? Cap'n…"

Oswald jumped up happily, smiling like an idiot, when Agent Eppes pushed his way into the room. Oswald clenched his fist and mouthed a silent, "Yes!", as he watched Don shove his G-man badge into the florid face.

"You assholes have lost enough time! Kittner's alibi was down in his room, waiting for someone to come and get her all the time you've been browbeating this kid!" Don lowered his badge but took a step closer, so that his chest actually touched the bigger man's. Still, it was Don who looked intimidating. "Meanwhile, nobody is questioning hotel staff, or colleagues who might have seen something, and NO-ONE KNOWS WHERE MY BROTHER IS!" Don shrugged off the hands of the skinny cop, who had come to his partner's aide, as well as those of the Captain. His voice lowered to a growl. "I swear to all that is holy, I will have your badge, you disgusting piece of shit, and I will testify in court when Kittner sues this city for next year's budget."

Oswald's eyes got almost as round as the cop.

Damn. Agent Eppes could be one pissed off dude.


	5. The Kidnapping

**WYWH, Chapter 5**: **The Kidnapping **

**Backstory -- A Little Over 12 Hours Ago…**

Charlie shifted in his bed and looked at the digital display of the clock on the nightstand. He groaned. "3:00 a.m.?" He had barely gotten any sleep. Or at least that's what it felt like. He was hoping he could just turn over and catch a few more hours. But if he and Oswald were going to have a nice breakfast, one long enough for Charlie to give him an overview of what to expect at the 8:00 a.m. session, they needed to be in the restaurant no later than 6:00. Add to that deadline the hour of work waiting for Charlie on his laptop – damn mid-terms, always coming at the wrong time – and he had to be ready to face the day by 4:30.

Shit.

He should not have had that celebratory champagne last night.

At least, not the entire bottle.

He sighed, groaned again and covered his head with the pillow. He didn't _want_ to get up, but he knew that if he didn't, he would sleep through his wake-up call and never make it up in 45 minutes. As long as he lived, he would never understand why mornings came so early. Charlie rolled over and put the pillow back in place. He slammed his fist into it, mentally cursing himself for waking up just a little too early.

He clambered out of bed and staggered a little on his way to the bathroom. He smiled wryly. Gonna have to pull it together. What kind of role model would a hungover professor be for Oswald? Once the water in the shower was hot, he stepped in, relishing the relaxing steam a little too much. He took his time. After all, he had it, waking up early. When he finally got out, he toweled dry and slipped on his jeans and button-down quickly, both because it was cold in the room, and he was afraid he might just fall back into bed after that relaxing shower. He reached for the glass while he rooted around his toiletry bag for a bottle of aspirin. Definitely too much champagne.

As if to prove the point, the glass slipped through his fingers, and shattered on the floor. "Dammit," he muttered, automatically leaning over to pick up the pieces. The first one sliced neatly into two fingers, and he hissed and jerked forward, stepping on another one. Charlie started hopping on one foot, watching blood drip onto the bathroom floor, clutching his wounded hand with his other hand, momentarily non-plussed.

He hated the sight of blood – especially his own – and Charlie started to get a little dizzy. Finally, he wrapped his foot in one towel, and his hand in another, and decided to call Oswald. The kid had to get up anyway, and Charlie could definitely use some help, here.

The bathroom door had been nearly shut, in an attempt to keep warm, and now Charlie pulled it all the way open and took one limping step outside, toward the bed. He nearly walked right into one of three men, standing silent in the dark room, and he let out a shocked yelp. The man closest to him spoke.

"You Eppes?"

Charlie limped backwards into the bathroom again, stepping on more glass, this time with his other foot. He barely felt it. He stared at the man, not liking what he saw. He spoke tremuously. "What do you want?"

Another man answered, and Charlie noticed for the first time that he was wearing a hotel uniform. "We need you to come with us," he said. "Your buddy Oswald got himself into some trouble."

"Are you Hotel Security?" Charlie asked. Then, because he thought of it, he added another guess. "FBI?"

"No, we're CIA," retorted the first man angrily. "Are you going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

"I'm not coming with you," Charlie said, terrified. The man had come a step closer to Charlie, and he could see a telltale bulge under his suit jacket. It looked suspiciously like Don's shoulder holster. He tried to back up more and swing the bathroom door shut in their faces.

The man quickly threw a hand up and blocked the door, while with the other hand he confirmed Charlie's fears and unholstered a gun. He swore when the door bounced off his hand. "Guess we'll have to do this the hard way." He pushed the door open, hard, slamming it into Charlie's face. Charlie reached his hands toward his eye, and when his visitor tried to backhand Charlie with the butt of the gun, he broke two of his fingers, instead.

Charlie grunted, his legs gave out, and he sat down hard on broken glass. Hissing, he tried to scramble to his feet again. His world was spinning, but he could feel someone grabbing at his arms and ordering him to come quietly. Charlie couldn't see the sense in that. "Let me go!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the bathroom. "Help! Somebody!" His brain raced at its usual pace. Within milliseconds he had asked himself what Don would do, and had answered himself: _He wouldn't have sat his ass down in broken glass. He wouldn't have gotten himself into this mess to begin with._ Why did this stuff always happen to Charlie?

The man with the gun was getting upset. "Don't make so much damn noise! We don't want anyone to hear us!" He lent his body weight to whoever was pulling at Charlie already, and they dragged him into the hotel room. Charlie dropped to the floor and started kicking blindly, still screaming.

He felt himself connect with something, heard an "oomph" about two octaves higher than it should have been, and felt a moment of triumph. He tried to roll away from the men, but soon felt a hand twisted in his long hair, dragging him back. His screams were simultaneously cut off by a beefy hand over his mouth. Charlie continued to struggle as someone else held onto his legs. He soon felt his arms trapped. His heart nearly stopped when he heard one of them yell, "Get the syringe! Where are the drugs? Hurry, we can't hold him much longer!"

Charlie twisted and heaved in vain, and watched with wide and terrified eyes as the man with the gun fished something out of his pocket. Charlie saw a needle aimed for his arm and fought harder. He jerked as it penetrated the skin, and whimpered into the hand still over his mouth.

The last thing he focused on, before he lost consciousness, was the man in the hotel uniform. He was dragging a laundry cart in from the hall.

**Back to Present Time, Police Station**

Don paced the Captain's office, never taking his eyes off Mutt and Jeff the Detectives. "How could you have possibly thought Oswald had anything to do with this? Charlie was – is – his only friend in the city. Your preposterous theory cost us valuable time; time we'll never get back. Anyone in the hotel who may have heard something is probably gone by now!" Don was working his way back to near oblivion. "You thought you had a suspect _for murder_! Is one of you humping for a Gold Shield, or something? You should have been looking for evidence to a kidnapping. He stuck to his story, and that's what you look for – right?" He looked from one to the other with disgust. "Or did they not have The Academy back when you became cops?"

Round One scowled into his sweat, and the skinny one went into his Good Cop routine. "We're academy-trained police officers, sir. You need to calm down."

Don put his hands on his hips. "Listen, don't think Quantico is as lax as your Academy. I know how you guys run things, here, and this is my brother we're talking about. Don't tell me to calm down. I'm not going to let you screw things up like some of your other cases."

The Captain interrupted nervously. "What do you mean?"

"I spent five minutes on my cell while I watched your guys browbeat Oswald, and I know you've lost your last three kidnapping victims. They were all murdered. You're so used to being behind the eight-ball you don't even try for recovery, anymore. Right away you're looking for a body and trying to arrest an innocent kid." Don took a threatening step closer to the police Captain. "My brother will not be your fourth victim," he promised loudly.

The Captain tried to placate him. "If you're finished shouting, I'll agree with you. And I'll agree with my officer. Agent Eppes, you do need to calm down." His eyes shot daggers at his detectives, who quickly looked at each other, then down at the floor. "I admit, my men were wrong to go after Mr. Kittner so single-mindedly. And…perhaps we could have been more aggressive about offering him representation." He lifted his chin and looked at Don defiantly. "Although he did not request a lawyer, even after being read his rights."

Don ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "You told the kid it was routine questioning. He's a high school dropout, for Pete's sake, not a Phi Beta Cappa!"

Sweaty fat guy looked at his partner. "What's pie got to do with it?"

Don sighed. "I want your best men on this case. _Definitely_ not these two jokers. And I'll need to check a service weapon out of your armory. Something tells me if I get into trouble in this town, I'm on my own."


	6. The Investigation Begins

**WYWH, Chapter 6:** **The Investigation Begins **

Oswald trotted beside Don like a puppy as they approached the hotel.

"That was so cool, man. You really laid those guys out!"

He continued to rave until Don swung on him like an irritated rattler. "Damn it, Oswald, you should have told them about the redhead. I wouldn't have needed to drag your sorry ass out of the fire, and we might have Charlie back, already!"

Oswald hung his head, chagrined. "I'm sorry, man. Those guys confused me, and I was scared. I guess I kind-of forgot about her." He looked at Don hopefully. "What do we do now?"

"Your room is only 20 feet down the corridor. You came home with…Little Red Riding Hood…at 4:00 a.m. You heard nothing?"

Oswald shook his head. "No, man, and we were awake for a while, you know?"

"Spare me the details," Don ground out. They were almost to the hotel where the math symposium was being held. It was due to dismiss for the day in less than 30 minutes. "You come in and show me who Charlie went to dinner with, last night. We'll trace his steps from the last time you saw him."

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When Charlie awoke, it was agonizingly slowly. Though his eyes remained closed, the world spun more viciously than it had before. His head throbbed in tandem with his heartbeat, which he could feel in his cut and broken fingers, sliced feet, perforated backside.

His aching head lolled against his chest, and in a few moments he understood that he was sitting, ankles secured against the legs of a chair, hands tied in back. He groaned lightly, and heard a murmuring of voices.

"What the hell did you do to him? He was just supposed to be leverage, to get the Kittner kid to do what we wanted. No-one was even supposed to know that he was missing."

Charlie tried unsuccessfully to lift his head. There was something frighteningly familiar about that voice…

"Instead he's all cut-up and bleeding, he's got a black eye, and he's been drugged. There's blood evidence, police all over the hotel, and people at the sessions have been talking about it all day. Everybody knows that Eppes is missing, and the kid is being questioned. I heard some guys swearing they heard screaming around 3:30 this morning, you idiots!"

Charlie recognized the defensive low growl. The one with the gun. "We didn't cut him. Asshole did that himself. Broke a glass before we even got there. And it's lucky for you that we thought to bring something with us. Else a lot more people would have heard a lot more screaming."

A snort of disgust. "Some professionals I hired. Tell me, in your esteemed opinion, what I'm supposed to do with him now?" Charlie heard a crash, and jerked against his ropes. "And this laptop you brought along? What do you expect me to do with this? It's not even his! Where are your colleagues, with Kittner? The second that kid calms down, he's going to remember our conversation. It might be too late already!"

Charlie suddenly placed the voice, and groaned louder. His physical pain was not that much greater, but the knowledge of who was behind it hit him like a fist in the gut. Almost against his will, he tried again to raise his head.

This time he succeeded, and his eyes grew wide and damp with dismay at the cold, steel-blue eyes that stared back at him. His captor sighed, and looked again at the gunman. "You didn't even gag him." He looked back at Charlie. "Don't bother to scream, Eppsie. We're in an abandoned warehouse outside the city. No-one will hear you." He shoved at the sullen man beside him. "Find a damn gag, you useless troll!"

Charlie watched the gunman approach, pulling a soiled handkerchief out of the pocket of his jacket. He shuddered, and looked toward his captor, again. He whispered quickly, before he was gagged. "Marshall. Why are you doing this?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oswald had pinpointed Dr. Marc Jason as part of the dinner party, and Don pulled him out of the flow of symposium traffic. They had found a group seating area in the lobby of the hotel, not far away.

Don launched directly into his purpose – enough time had already been lost. "Dr. Jason, I'm Federal Agent Don Eppes. I'm trying to find my brother, Dr. Charles Eppes. Oswald here tells me you had dinner with him last night?"

The man nodded and offered Oswald a tentative smile. "Yes, yes. I'm heartened to see you, young man. I had heard that you were being questioned."

"Chicago PD had their heads up…", Don started, and then stopped himself. "They wasted a lot of time messing with Oswald. How do you know Charlie?"

The doctor settled back in an overstuffed armchair and crossed one leg over the other knee. He held his hands in a "V" before his face, elbows propped on his crossed leg. "I first met Charlie at Oxford," he answered. "I teach at Cornell, now, but I was a visiting professor at Oxford the semester Charlie spent on that campus. I have followed his career with great interest. I lost out to CalSci and Dr. Fleinhardt, when Charlie decided to teach." He smiled at Don. "I made sure to put in a bid for Cornell."

"When did you see him last — before this conference, I mean?"

"Nearly two years ago, at a similar symposium at UCLA. He had not yet begun his impressive work with cognitive emergence. I was, literally, quite stunned with his presentation yesterday. An impressive amount of work in such a short time…" He shook his head and glanced again at Oswald. "It's hard to believe Charlie is old enough to take on a mentorship himself."

Don again interrupted the older man's memories. "What about last night? You went to dinner?"

The man dropped his hands onto his knee. One began to beat a staccato rhythem. "Yes, of course, to celebrate his keynote presentation. Remarkable work, simply…" He sensed Don's impatience and pulled himself back to the question. "There were five of us, in addition to Charlie. Dr. Karen Sinclair, Dr. Davis Matthews, Dr. Ken Studeman, myself, and my wife, Dr. Tarina Eckles-Jason. Tarina and I are also staying in the hotel next door, so after dinner, we walked back with Charlie."

Don frowned. "So at no point was he left alone?"

Dr Jason tilted his salt-and-pepper head. "Well, we were quite free with the bubbly. Everyone went to the restroom, at some point, of course. CalSci is on a slightly different academic schedule than most schools, and Charlie brought mid-terms with him to grade. He was having a wonderful time, but begged off at midnight, saying he had to get up at 4:30 this morning."

Don leaned forward a little in his own chair. "And you and your wife, you left him where?"

"His door," Dr. Jason stated emphatically. "Tarina and I had a room just four doors away, at the end of the hall. We saw him safely inside." He sat up straighter in the chair, suddenly, dropping both feet to the floor. "In fact, we stepped inside the doorway for a moment, while Charlie searched his suitcase for a brochure the CalSci mathematics department is working on. He brought it to the symposium to solicit ideas." He chuckled, and shook his head again. "At least, he intended to. Never did find it, I'm afraid."

Oswald, unaccountably pleased to have something worth offering, piped up. "That's because I have it. He gave it to me last time I was in his office, because he was afraid he would forget it!"

Don tossed him a look Oswald didn't quite understand, then turned back to Dr. Jason. "The room was in good order at that time?"

Again Dr. Jason smiled. "I'm not sure I would go that far, Agent Eppes. We are talking about Charlie, here. But it had not been ransacked, it that's what you're implying."

Don stood, to indicate that the interview was almost over. "Did you hear anything unusual, during the night?"

Dr. Jason stood and frowned. "No…but Tarina shook me awake around 3:30. She said she had heard screaming. Tarina is given to nightmares, but still I went to the door, opened it on the chain and peered out the crack into the corridor, to calm her. All I saw was the elevator door closing. There could not have been too many people in there, because I saw a housekeeper's cart taking up a great deal of space." He shrugged, looking sympathetically at Don. "Tarina may have heard some housekeepers speaking to each other, or something. I wish I could help you more, Agent Eppes. Tarina and I are very concerned about Charlie."

Don offered him his hand. "I appreciate what you've been able to tell me, Dr. Jason. I'll want to speak with your wife, later."

"Of course," the doctor agreed quickly. "Anything we can do. As I said, our room is down the hall and on the opposite side of the corridor: 2929, very easy to remember. Please contact us."

Don shook his hand and thanked him again, reaching into his pocket for a business card. His cell phone number was scribbled on the back.

The two Californians watched Dr. Jason leave, pocketing the card. Then Don turned to Oswald, the look Oswald couldn't name on his face again. Oswald shifted from one foot to the other. "What?", he asked, nervously.

Don sighed. "I need to get back in Charlie's room. Something seemed off, and I think I know now what it was. His laptop wasn't anywhere in plain sight. The perps may have taken it."

Oswald looked confused, and started thinking out loud. "No. They might think they have it, but all they have is mine. A few baseball games, some stats I have backed-up at home…nothing important…"

Don raised an eyebrow. "Your computer was in Charlie's room?"

Oswald shrugged. "Dr. Eppes said it was a security thing he and Dr. Fleinhardt always do when they travel together. Store each other's computers. Sounded kind-of lame to me, but it made the guy happy…"

The news didn't seem to make Don happy, however. "So these guys who think they have Charlie's computer…why would they want it? His cognitive stuff?"

To Don's utter surprise, Oswald's legs buckled and he fell back into his overstuffed chair. He paled rapidly, groaned loudly, and buried his head in his hands. Alarmed, Don kneeled down in front of him. "Oswald? Are you all right?"

The young man looked up and met Don's concern with horrified eyes. "Damn, Agent Eppes, those cops were right! Shit, I'm sorry! Oh, man, oh, man…" He was rocking slightly in the chair, and Don reached out a hand to steady him.

He spoke gently, afraid to hear the answer for reasons he didn't even know. "Oswald, what is it?"

Oswald took a deep, shuddering breath, and his voice cracked. "The cops are right. This is all my fault."


	7. Suspicion is Contagious

**WYWH, Chapter 7:** **Suspicion is Contagious**

Oswald shook his head morosely. "It's all my fault. Dammit, Don, it's all my fault. I am such an idiot!" He glanced at Don, hoping the older man didn't hurt him too badly, even though he probably deserved it. One of the first things he had learned about the Brothers Eppes was that no-one had better endanger one in the presence of the other.

Don stood over him. He rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache and sighed. Then he sat in a chair facing Oswald and spoke quietly. "Unless you're going to tell me this was all a joke Charlie cooked up, or you're the one hiding him somewhere, I fail to see how this could possibly be your fault."

Oswald swallowed. Don being nice to him was worse than Don trying to kill him. Maybe the explanation would morph him into The Brother Hulk. "Because," Oswald finally admitted. "This guy talked to me yesterday, after the first half of Charlie's presentation. Who knew these math things had intermissions?" Don started tapping one foot, and Oswald continued nervously. "Anyway. He knew who I was, and that I was here with Charlie. He said he and Charlie went to Princeton together, and they had talked earlier yesterday morning. He took me aside, back away from everybody, and he said he knew Charlie's habits. He knew after the presentation, I would end up with his laptop. He offered me a lot of money, to burn a copy of all of Charlie's cognitive emergence work to DVD, and then implant a phagocytic code into it. I would get the DVD to this guy, Charlie's data would self-destruct and this dude would be able to publish before Charlie could redo everything."

Don interrupted him. "Wait, wait…implant a what?"

"Phagocytic code," Oswald repeated. "It boils down to a series of instructions to the data to self-destruct. You can program it to take affect at the stroke of a certain key, or the next time the computer is booted, or anything." His voice took on a note of disdain. "I thought the guy was crazy. I really didn't think he was serious – I mean, come on, if you know Charlie's habits, you've got to know he has this stuff backed up in at least three different places. Plus, the guy was a full-on _nerd_, glasses and everything. When I laughed and said he'd have to find some other way to pull one over on Charlie, he tried to threaten me, and it was ridiculous. He said that when he did find another way, both Charlie and I would be sorry. It was like one of those old, stupid, black-and-white movies, or something." Oswald looked at Don sadly. "Honest, man, I really didn't take him seriously."

Don tried to be understanding and not scare his best chance at finding Charlie into silence. "Look, I know, all right? I see people doing crazy shit all the time, and it's usually over something like love, or money – it's hardly ever over math. It's not something you'd necessarily expect, that kind of cut-throat competition." He leaned forward in the chair. "Do you remember the guy's name?"

Oswald smiled, happy that Don was so patient and understanding, and thrilled with his own memory for names. "Yes!", he answered excitedly. "I remember, because Charlie told me this story about Princeton on the way out here on the plane, and this guy didn't exactly shine, if you know what I mean…so I knew Charlie didn't really like him…"

Don leaned forward a little further. "Name?" he barked, a little impatiently this time.

Oswald pushed himself farther back in his own chair and blanched. "Oh. Oh, yeah. It was Marshall. Marshall Penfield."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alan hurried from the shelter after helping to serve lunch and stopped at a bakery halfway between the shelter and the FBI offices. On the one hand, he felt badly that he hadn't taken the time to make Megan a homemade cake for her birthday. On the other, he knew this bakery well, so he was sure the cake would be excellent. He was settling the cake on the floor of the passenger side of the car when he thought about checking his cell phone. He sat up and took if from his pocket, unaccountably proud. Both sons were always telling him he would never get the hang of this cell phone thing.

One missed call, one voice mail. He saw that it was from Don, and smiled, then frowned. He hoped Don wasn't calling to tell him not to bring the cake, that they had all had to leave the office, or something. As he listened to the voice mail, his frown grew deeper.

This was worse than he thought. Don said they were going out of town.

He listened to the message again, staring at the cake. What was he going to do with this cake? Charlie was already out of town, and the last thing Alan needed in the house was a quarter-sheet birthday cake… _"I'm"_. Don was definitely saying "_I'm_ going to be out of town for a few days", not "_we_", or "_the team_". Strange.

Alan punched in the number for Don's office and negotiated the automated system until he could enter Megan's extension. He was a little surprised when she picked up.

"M..Megan!", he stuttered. "Happy birthday, dear. It's Alan."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Thank-you, Alan. You're sweet to remember."

He was happy about the cake, again. "Listen, dear, I want to bring a cake by the office this afternoon. I had hoped you could join us for dinner, but I know you're probably seeing Larry tonight. Plus, with both Don and Charlie out of town…"

"Alan, that's so thoughtful. But you don't need to…"

"No, no, Megan, I already have it and everything. I've been planning on it, and I would have surprised you, but I just got Don's voice mail about leaving town and I got a little worried the whole team had been sent."

A few seconds of silence. Then Megan's voice again, somewhat confused. "Well, no, Alan…we just showed up this morning and he wasn't here. The Officer of the Day left a message on my phone that he had approved indefinite leave time for a family emergency."

Alan clutched the phone a little harder. "What? There's no family emergency that I know about…but I couldn't reach Charlie this morning, either."

He was getting worried, and Megan could hear it in his voice. She spoke comfortingly. "Alan, why don't I go talk to the OD and see what else I can get out of him. I'll call you back?"

He shook his head even though she could not see him. "No. I'm almost there with the cake, anyway. I have my Visitor's Badge with me, I'll just come up."

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Alan was familiar with the break room, and he went directly there when he got off the elevator. Worried or not, he had a small birthday celebration to coordinate. He placed the cake on the table and went to the cupboard where he knew the paper plates and napkins were kept. He placed them on the table, stopping to grab a handful of plastic forks and one plastic knife from a drawer. He stepped back and looked at the arrangement, then stepped forward and lifted the clear plastic cover from the cake. Nodding, he went to the bullpen to gather Megan and her coworkers.

They were gathered in a standing semi-circle at Megan's desk, and Alan heard her talking as he approached. "…definitely said he was on the way to the airport, and had to leave town on a family emergency. The OD thought he may have mentioned Chicago. Do you remember where Charlie went for his symposium?"

Alan answered for them, dully. "Chicago."

David and Colby turned to look at him and Megan pushed past them to embrace Alan. "I'm sure everything is fine. Don't worry. We'll find out what's going on."

Alan smiled faintly as he hugged her in return. "Of course. Happy Birthday, Megan." He stepped back and eyed Colby over her shoulder. "There's some cake in the breakroom – you wait and let Megan cut the first piece!"

Colby choked out a "Hey!", and Megan laughed.

"I just hope it's chocolate, or carrot," she admitted. "I love Larry to death, but I am so tired of white food…"

Alan's jacket pocket began playing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame", and he reached quickly for his cell. "Thank God," he said, obviously relieved. "That's Donnie returning my call, finally." He extricated the phone and flipped it open. "Where are you? What's going on? Are you all right? Where's Charlie?" The three agents grinned at each other as they listened to Alan's immediate assault on their boss.

As they heard a sudden intake of breath and saw him pale, however, their grins faded. Megan put a hand protectively on his back and watched his face. "Missing? What do you mean, he's missing? Since when? Where's Oswald? What's going on?" David and Colby exchanged a glance, and Alan listened quietly for a few minutes. When he spoke again, it was in the "I Am The Father" tone they were all familiar with. "I'm coming. I will not stay here while both of my sons are who knows where, facing who knows what….Don't interrupt me, young man. Do not tell me what I am going to do." He was shaking his head. "No. Just get used to the idea. I. Am. Coming. I'll call you later with flight details." Alan flipped the phone shut, hanging up on Don. Colby arched an eyebrow and wandered toward his own desk.

Alan's cell started singing out Don's ringtone again almost immediately. Alan looked at it briefly and then shoved it in his pocket without answering it. He looked at Megan. "I suppose you heard that. He says Oswald called him early this morning and said that Charlie is missing. By the time he got there, Chicago's finest were grilling the poor boy as if he was a suspect himself, wasting time and resources, and doing nothing to actually find my son."

Megan's hand was still on Alan's back, and she patted it twice. "Alan, I'm so sorry. I know this is supremely frustrating, but Don is on the case, now. You know he'll move heaven and earth to find Charlie."

Colby rejoined the circle, shrugging into his jacket. He interrupted Megan. "Alan, you and I need to go. I've got us booked on a flight that leaves in two hours."

Alan stared at him, stunned speechless for a moment. "Wha?", he finally managed.

Colby shrugged, looking from one pair of eyes to the other until he had covered all his bases. "Listen. I've got some time coming, myself. I owe Don. He could have had my badge over that thing with my Army buddy. He was tough on me, but I asked for it, and he was also more than fair. He's been a good friend to me, and so has the Whiz Kid. The least I can do for both of them is make sure that their father doesn't do something stupid like fly off to Chicago." He grinned at Alan. "Alone, anyway."


	8. Medley of Mad Men

**WYWH, Chapter 8**: **Medley of Mad Men**

"Stop a minute, moron. Give me the gag. I'll do it." Marshall smiled sickeningly at Charlie, "You know what they say. 'If you want something done right, do it yourself.'"

Charlie figured he didn't have long to speak, and things weren't looking too good for him, anyway. Might as well say what he thought, He raised an eyebrow. "Huh," he began, feigning innocence. "And here all this time, I thought your goal in life was just to get me to do it for you."

Penfield's face became a mask of fury. He ripped the dirty cloth out of the hired gun's hand, pushed him aside and took a step toward Charlie. He raised the filthy would-be gag up and shook it. "You. Had to have all the attention. I was a 17-year-old sophomore at Princeton, the best minds in America grooming me for a flawless future, and what happens? A damn 14-year-old freshman, that's what happens. Couldn't even _stay_ a freshman for a whole year! By spring you had caught up with me, already, and everyone's attention had turned to you. I would never have had to stoop to the tactics I did, if you hadn't taken away my resources, my shot at academic fame…"

Charlie snorted. "It's true you're a man of unusual talent, Marshall. I always thought that if you worked on the legitimate side of academia half as hard as you've always worked at finding the easy way out, your star would outshine us all."

Marshall had stopped directly in front of Charlie. Almost casually, he raised a hand to backhand him across the face. Charlie's head whipped to the side and he felt the sting where Penfield's ring had split his lip. "I was willing to work, Eppes! I needed some direction, that's all. I was 17 years old! But as soon as you showed up, I was old news. No-one had time for me, anymore."

Charlie knew it was probably a mistake, but he leaned over as far as he could in the chair and spit a mouthful of blood onto Marshall's polished shoe. He raised his head, and turned the other cheek. "My God, Marshall, even if you believe that was true -- even if you could convince me that your truly impressive, almost complete failure to make any kind of mark on the academic world, is somehow all traceable back to me, and our years as Princeton undergrads….Is that how you want to be defined, almost 18 years later? What kind of man is that?"

Charlie almost winced at the look that crossed Marshall's face. He forced himself to keep staring at him, told himself over and over that the man was a wimp in college, and a wimp now. He just needed to be put in his place. Charlie was convinced that was what Don would do, if he was here.

"I almost stopped you then. I almost stopped you again last year, when I was touring campuses and pointing out the discrepancies in the famous Eppes Theory that got you that first doctorate. Now you have three, and you couldn't even let me have that. You had to show me up as a complete fool to a roomful of my peers."

Charlie grinned, even though stretching his split lip brought tears to the back of his eyes. "Couldn't get my girl then, either, could you Penfield? I told you that she was a gifted mathematician, and that you would never be able to convince her that two inches was really six!"

Marshall raised his hand to hit Charlie again, then froze it in mid-air. "Moron!", he growled over his shoulder, "Let's forget the damn gag. Just give me your gun."

Charlie called his bluff – he hoped. "Kill me now, and you'll never get whatever it is you want this time, Marshall. I swear – has your IQ actually decreased?"

He saw the beefy hand of the shorter, stockier gunman from the motel slip a gun into Marshall's hand. Charlie watched with surprise and dismay as Penfield "racked" the slide mechanism on the semi-automatic handgun to chamber a round, as if he actually knew what he was doing. His face was somehow calmly sinister as he stared at Charlie.

He aimed the weapon at Charlie's left knee. "Oh, there are ways to shoot you without killing you. At least not right away. Ways to leave you capable of delivering to me all of your cognitive emergence research. In fact, since you're here now anyway, this could work even better. I can draft a confession, about how you stole the idea for this theory, and most of the research, from me. You can sign it before you commit suicide."

Charlie didn't know where his voice came from. "If I'm here to commit suicide, why am I shooting myself in the knee first?", he challenged, and Marshall's face darkened.

"Perhaps you're right," he said. "Leave it to Eppsie to point out the error of my calculations, again." He turned to hand the gun back to his hired hand. "Here," Marshall said, as he began to walk away. "I've already been gone from the conference for too long. I'll be back later tonight. In the meantime, find some other way to break both of his legs."

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Don and Oswald faced each other in silence.

"Well, shit," Don finally managed. He rubbed his chin, then reached almost abstractly into his pocket and brought out his cell. He saw three missed messages from his father. He sighed deeply and sat back in the seat. "Shit," he repeated. "Guess I'd better do this. Hang tight a minute, Oswald."

Oswald Kittner was not a young man who had grown up with the Eppes style of love. He sat quietly in his chair, listening to Don tell his father that Charlie was missing and he was in Chicago to help the police whether they asked for it or not, and he marveled once again at the commitment between brothers. He was thinking about times he had seen them together, and the way they took each other for granted sometimes. He could hear Don stuttering occasional "Dad…"s, and half-sentences: "You should…", "But it's not…", "I really think…". By the time Don flipped the phone shut, Oswald knew that Alan was going to fly out here, too. At once he felt joy, and sorrow. How could someone have that kind of love around him all the time, and ever, ever, have a bad day? Don immediately opened the phone again and called his father back. He growled in pure frustration when there was no answer, and slammed the cell shut again.

"He's coming," Don confirmed, standing. He looked back at the phone, which was receiving a text message. At first he recognized Megan's number and almost didn't read it, but at the last second he waited for the message to display. He shook his head and smiled a little. "Son of a bitch. Colby is coming with him. We'll take a cab out to the airport and meet them in about four hours, okay?"

Oswald stood awkwardly and uncertainly. He felt totally unnecessary. "Listen, I'll help if you want, man, but you don't need me. You got Colby and your Dad, and all…. You guys will work faster without dragging me around. Charlie needs you."

Don took a moment to study the young man before him. It was obvious Charlie thought the world of this kid. His brother had delusions of grandeur – he wanted to be Oswald's "Larry". Don also knew, from things he had learned during the case Oswald had been involved with a few months ago, that he had not had much, growing up. Oswald grew up believing "not much" was all he deserved, and Charlie was having a rough time trying to motivate him.

Don gave him a genuine smile, and spoke gently. "Hey. I want your help; I need it. And I'm not going to have you disappearing on me too, so you're my shadow for a while, got it?"

Oswald grinned and ducked his head. "Sure, man, anything that will help Dr. Eppes."

Don injected a little more force into his voice. "Okay. We've got time to try and track down Penfield. Let's move."


	9. The Other Kidnapping

**FraidyCat A/N: Let me make this perfectly clear for the confused and war torn: The Silent Rumble is MALE. Try not to accuse him of being a "gal" again! (I would suggest reading our individual profiles for hints in this area, but I do not want to get pissy and discourage readers/reviewers -- so pretend I didn't say that.) Oswald's voice is so spot-on because Jason speaks that language...**

**WYWH, Chapter 9: The Other Kidnapping **

Don growled at the telephone. "He's not answering his phone," he snapped. "_That_ was a whole lot of good. Oswald, next time you suggest calling Chicago PD, I'm going to kick your ass…" He stopped his threat when he realized Oswald was shaking, and instead offered him a steadying hand.

"Sorry," Oswald said.

"It's okay, man. Don't worry about it. Come on, let's interview that Marshall guy."

"I got his room number," Oswald suddenly remembered.

"Good. That saves me a whole hour. Let's do that before we go pick up my dad; maybe we can surprise him with a lead."

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**_TWENTY MINUTES LATER_**

"Leads are good," Oswald grumbled to himself as Don knocked on Marshall's door. "Leads are damn good."

"Hey!" A voice suddenly called. "Down here."

Don half-turned and peered down the hallway. Headed toward Oswald and himself was an average man. Average height, average weight, average looks. "What is it?" Don growled.

When Average Man reached them, Don saw that his face was as serious as the Grim Reaper's. "You lookin' for that Charlie kid?"

Don glanced at Oswald to see if he recognized the guy. Oswald looked as blank as he felt. He looked back at Average. "How did you know?"

"You're his brother," replied the man, surprising Don. "He speaks very highly of you — showed me a picture of the two of you together, once. I been trying to remember your name, figure out how to reach you. I think I stumbled on a big lead about where he could be."

Don turned completely away from the unanswered door, moving closer to Oswald. "I'm listening."

Oswald started to speak, hesitantly. "Don, I think I know…" He abruptly shut his mouth at the glare from Don, and dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Go on," Don encouraged their visitor.

"Yeah, well, we saw the kid late last night. He stumbled in. He was definitely drunk… My buddy Alexander thought he saw him being persuaded into that room down there."

Don's eyes followed the guy's pointing finger and he fidgeted. This was too convenient. He knew he shouldn't trust this dude any farther than he could throw him, but maybe he could play along for a while, and get some information. Having Oswald there was a definite complication. He had to keep the kid safe, and hope he could control him without words.

As if to feed his apprehension, Oswald tried to speak again, tugging at his sleeve. "Don, I don't think you should …" Before he could say the word _trust,_ or anything else Don didn't want him to say, Don took off and was halfway down the hall. He walked rapidly, leaving Average Man to bring up the rear with Oswald. Wondering how he could communicate his plan to the kid, Don didn't even notice when the "tipster" grabbed Oswald around the neck with one hand, and held a knife to his throat with the other.

He heard the startled yelp, though. Don had just reached the room Average Man had sent them to when he whipped around. By this time Oswald and his captor were almost on top of him. Don swore under his breath and fumbled for his borrowed Chicago PD gun, but he stumbled as Average thrust Oswald into him, hard. The door of the hotel room had been unlatched, and when their bodies hit it, both Don and Oswald fell into a heap inside.

"What the hell," Don started, but hands were firmly clamped over his mouth, and he didn't get to finish. Still more hands restrained him and relieved him of his weapon. He was kicked solidly in the ribs, and he grunted, trying to roll into a self-protective ball.

Oswald was pried off Don during the struggle. Lying on the floor, Don could now see at least two other men besides Average Guy. He had blown it. How could he find Charlie if he needed saving himself?

Don struggled mightily as he was brought roughly to his feet, and gagged. He watched as the same was done to Oswald. While two of the men concentrated on using Don's own borrowed handcuffs on him, Average Man shoved Oswald into a straight-back chair. He used short lengths of rope to secure him.

Don broke free momentarily, landing a solid kick to somebody's knee. Raising his cuffed hands, he pulled down his gag and charged the man closest to him, yelling at the top of his lungs and hoping someone in the hotel heard. Average quickly abandoned Oswald and joined the fracas.

When it was three-on-one, Don quickly found himself subdued again, and wrestled to the floor. His ribs screamed in protest, and he tried to drown them out. "Where's Charlie?", he shouted. "Take me to my brother!"

The largest of the three men literally sat on him, and the other two gagged him again. Part of the rope was then used to tie his ankles together, and he was "hog-tied" in a painful, arching "U": His legs and arms were bent toward each other until more rope could be used to secure them together.

Average stood over him, huffing a little. He planted another foot in Don's ribs. "Stop yer yellin'," he commanded. "You'll see Charlie in due time. According to The Boss, as soon as we get the right computer, you're all expendable."

Oswald had witnessed the entire struggle, eyes growing wider and wider. He began to wring his hands in worry and jolted a little. _I have seen too many damn action films,_ he found himself thinking. _I'm starting to believe I could actually get out of these ropes._

Average interrupted his thoughts. After yet another kick to Don's ribs, he crossed the room and stood in front of the younger man.

"You have to be Oswald," he sneered. "Charlie speaks very highly of you also. My associates and I made a small mistake last night. Marshall told us that you and Charlie would exchange computers, but when we saw Eppes keep looking at the one is his room -- like he was scared we'd notice -- we figured he must not have followed protocol, this trip. Turns out we were wrong. We just finished ripping apart your room before you two showed up, though, and we can't seem to come up with another one." He reached out and yanked down Oswald's gag. "Tell us where it is."

Oswald felt all of his lunch sinking into the bottom of his stomach. He looked at Don, who despite his alphabet shape, was trying to shake his head "no". Oswald swallowed, and looked back at his tormentor.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, shakily. In reality, he knew very well. When he had gone back to his own room that morning to call the police, like Don had instructed him, his eyes had fallen on the laptop and he had followed a sudden instinct. Without even knowing why he did it, while he was waiting for the police and his redhead was dressing for company, Oswald had taken the laptop downstairs and asked the desk clerk to put it in the hotel safe. There, supposedly, it still rested.

"Where is it?" Average insisted, backhanding Oswald across the face.

Oswald tasted blood. He looked beligerantly at the man. "Dammit, I said I don't know what you're talking about! Maybe he left it in the conference room or something!" He hoped he appeared convincing.

Average Man roughly re-gagged him and turned to snarl at his companions. "He's lying. They both need some persuasion. Get the laundry cart again — transport them both to the warehouse. I will meet you there at 1700 hours."

The other two goons looked at each other, and one finally spoke, sounding a little frightened. "Sir?"

Average Man was already halfway to the door. "What?", he snapped.

"When, exactly, is 1700 hours?"

Average rubbed a hand over his face and Oswald made a noise of unmistakeable mirth behind his gag. Average lowered his hand and glared at him. "Shut the hell up," he commanded. Turning toward his employees, he continued the glare. "1700 is 5:00 p.m., you idiots. Where the hell did Marshall get you guys?"


	10. The Cavalry Arrives

**WYWH, Chapter 10: The Cavalry Arrives**

During the flight to Chicago, Alan had fed Colby countless tidbits about Don's growing up years, items he would be sure to remember the next time he needed a little subtle boss-blackmail.

For instance, there was the time when Don was 8. Charlie was only three, but his unique abilities – and needs – were already making themselves known. He had begun working with specialized tutors, and requiring more than his fair share of the family's income, and his parents' time. Most three-year-olds are convinced the world revolves around them – and Charlie's attitude was worse, since to a large extent, it actually did. The first casualty of Charlie's genius was an annoying arrogance.

Alan and Margaret struggled mightily to teach Charlie humility. Alan looked at Colby a little sadly in the middle of this story. "I'm afraid now we may have been over-achievers," he admitted. "Oh, sometimes, I still see the old arrogance crop up, but too often, I see hesitation, and discomfort…uneasiness with things that should be natural. His hesitation with Amita, for instance."

Colby redirected Alan's focus, both to cheer the man up – and to get his ammunition. "Don?", he encouraged.

Alan smiled. "Oh, yes. Donnie was especially irritated by Charlie's…well, by Charlie, I guess. Embarassed that his baby brother thought doing his big brother's math homework was a reward for good behavior, or something. He resented all the time his mother and I suddenly had to devote to Charlie, and the fact that he couldn't have a lot of the things he wanted, anymore. He was right to feel that way."

Alan was getting sad and guilty, and Colby tried to think of a way to change the subject. Failing that, he at least tried to help. "They get along great, now. You should see how proud Don can get, when Charlie has the rest of us looking around with crossed eyes!"

Alan smiled. "That's nice to hear. It's been a long road, for the two of them…" He cleared his throat and tried to shift in the tiny aircraft seating. "Anyway. One day Don decided he had taken enough. He evidently reasoned that all of his troubles had started with Charlie. So he figured if he got rid of the source, things would get back to normal."

Colby's eyes widened. "Don tried to off his brother? This is so…anti-federal agent!"

Alan snickered a little. "No, even then, fratacide was out of character for him. He just wanted Charlie to disappear. Don had just been to a friend's birthday party. A magician put a rabbit in a hat, and followed it with all sorts of things – raw eggs, a glass of milk, some water…he said that they had 'magical properties' that would mix in the hat and cause the rabbit to disappear."

"Which, of course, it did," Colby supplied.

"Exactly," confirmed Alan. "So one evening, Margaret and I decided to get my sister Ida to babysit and go out for a dinner alone – we hadn't done that in nearly a year. Ida planted herself on the couch in front of the television, and waited for screams, I guess. She more or less let the boys be boys. When we got home, Margaret and I came in through the kitchen."

Colby grinned. "Let me guess…eggs, and milk, and Charlie?"

Alan laughed. "At least. Poor little guy was sitting on the floor in a puddle of milk and water and tears. He was nearly choking on a pickle sticking out of his mouth that he was trying to cry around, and he was coated in flour. He was surrounded by egg shells. When we opened the door, Donnie was cracking another one over his head, crying himself. 'ABRA CADABRA!', he sniffed, red-faced. 'You're not doing it right, Charlie!'"

Colby laughed heartily, then looked at Alan. "Charlie probably got off easy," he said. "Now when Don wants somebody to disappear, he sends him to federal prison."

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Alan had missed his bag the first time it went around the carousel, and they were waiting for it to reappear. At least, he really hoped he had missed it, and it wasn't on a plane to Miami. Colby, who had grabbed his bag already, was peering over Alan's shoulder. "You said Don and Oswald would meet us here?"

Alan's eyes remained on the carousel. "I haven't actually spoken to him since I told him I was coming. Megan sent him all our arrival information – I'm certain he's around here, somewhere."

Colby continued to search baggage claim. "I suppose they could be holding a cab outside," he mused.

"That's probably it," assured Alan. "Why don't you go check – the door to passenger pick-up isn't far. I'll keep waiting for my bag. Please."

Colby shifted his to the other hand and smiled. "Yeah, okay. I'm sure the bag is there, Alan. I'll go take a quick look."

The gathering of passengers at the carousel was growing thin when Alan finally, with a sigh, spied his bag. He had just grabbed it and turned around, when he saw Colby come back into the building. The agent shrugged as he neared Alan. He spied the luggage, and grinned. "Well, that's good news, anyway. All the cabs out there are empty. I don't see either one of them, inside or out."

Alan frowned, and took his cell phone from his pocket. "Let me call him. I can use this in the terminal, right?" As Colby nodded, Alan turned the phone on and speed-dialed Don. After a few seconds, his frown deepened. "Voice mail. Maybe they're on the way? I can't imagine that he wouldn't…I mean, I know he's not happy that I came out, but that only gives him more reason to show up – I expected him to try and hustle me on the next plane home."

Colby nodded. "Me too, actually." A bank of hard plastic chairs lined the wall, and he indicated them with a tilt of his head. "Might as well wait, for a little while."

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The warehouse was a repeat of the hotel room.

Don and Oswald had not been drugged, just restrained and gagged, and when they were hustled from the back of a van into an abandoned, partitioned warehouse, Don struggled mightily. Once inside, eyes adjusting to the dim light, Don caught sight of Charlie, unconscious, tied to a chair. He was spattered with blood, and Don's struggling increased. Again, it took two of the men to subdue him, while the third forced Oswald onto the floor near a stack of dusty computer monitor boxes, and tied him to a water pipe.

He was distracted the entire time that he worked on Oswald. He was securing the young man's feet when Don managed to dislodge his gag. "CHARLIE! CHARLIE! What have you done to my brother?!" The third kidnapper made quick work of Oswald and hurried over to help contain Don. Oswald cringed as he saw one take out a gun and hit Don over the back of the head with it. When Don slumped in their arms, the panting trio dragged him to a wall about 25 feet away, and opposite, Oswald – where they secured him to another exposed pipe.

In-between them sat Charlie, still unconscious. He was facing Don, and Oswald could only see him from the rear. He was close enough to see the blood on Charlie's bound hands from his cut fingers, and the grossly misshapen fingers on the other hand. Oswald swallowed and turned his head. The row of computer monitor boxes on his right were stacked haphazardly near another wall. On his left, a large doorway led to another part of the warehouse. It was obvious from the dust and dirt that the place was abandoned, and Oswald wondered briefly who had lost their shirts on all these undelivered monitors.

At a sound from the outside door he and Don had been brought through, Oswald turned his head again and watched Marshall Penfield enter. His natural expression – a perpetual sneer – became more annoyed and angry with every step he took.

Soon he was even with his trio of goons, who still stood over Don's unconscious body. "What the hell have you done now?", he demanded. "I sent you after the right computer, and you come back here with _his brother_ and the kid?"

The largest of the men spoke defensively. "They were nosing around, asking questions. They already had a lead on you! They were gonna get us all thrown in jail if we left them out there."

Marshall ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "So why didn't you take them out of town and kill them, dump the bodies somewhere? What am I supposed to do with them now?"

The same man answered. "We tore the kid's room apart – no computer. Figured maybe you could make him talk. And if that don't work, wake the doc there up and torture Big Brother in front of him – that'll loosen his tongue!"

Marshall sighed like a parent with three unruly children in a grocery store, and wandered over to Charlie. He raised his head by yanking back on his hair, then let it fall to his chest, again. He looked him up and down, then actually stomped his foot when he turned back to the three stooges. "What about him?", he asked petulantly. "I told you to break his legs!"

Oswald listened to the bizarre conversation, and made a few startling discoveries. First, Penfield had his back to him, and was standing next to Charlie in such a way that the only other man who could have seen him, had his view blocked. Second, Oswald's hands were tied surprisingly loosely to the pole behind his back. Henchman #3 must have abandoned his job too early, in his haste to help subdue Don.

Oswald listened to the huge gunman whine that breaking Charlie's legs was not as easy as Marshall made it sound, with no weapon except a gun and a few computer monitors, and that it probably wasn't a good idea anyway. Like the doc said, why would a guy break his own legs before he committed suicide? Oswald was very careful not to make a sound, and he wrenched hard against the ropes, back and forth, trying to use the pipe as leverage.

The berating and defensive arguing continued center stage, and Oswald almost lost his battle against noise when he actually slipped one hand out of the rope. For one thing, he ripped off almost all his skin doing it, and may have broken his little finger. For another, it was pretty damn exciting.

Quickly he used his free hand to release the other, then left them behind him as he drew his feet up, knees almost touching his chest. Penfield, sensing movement, glanced quickly around but appeared satisfied with Oswald's station in life.

He turned back to his men. "I fail to see how I can convince anyone of anything, when two of them are unconscious, and the third looks like he's probably thrown up in his gag! Damn kid is so scared he couldn't tell us where the computer was if he knew!" He reached up a hand to slip off his glasses and began to polish them absently on a shirt sleeve. "I don't know what I expected," he said to no-one in particular. "My father always told me you get what you pay for."

One of the shorter men looked up from the floor excitedly. "We getting' a raise?" He _oomphed_ when his partner elbowed him in the ribs.

Marshall replaced his glasses and sighed again. He shook his head a little. "Fine," he finally said, all-business. "I'll try to gain something from this spectacular fiasco. Might as well start with the kid, he's the only one awake!"

With that, Marshall turned around to lead the group to Oswald – who wasn't there, anymore.


	11. Baby, It's Cold Inside

**WYWH, Chapter 11: Baby, It's Cold...Inside?**

Oswald stayed as silent as he could inside the empty computer monitor box he had found. His heart beat so hard when he heard someone opening a box near him, he was sure they would find him. Finally, directly over his head, he heard Penfield's voice. "These boxes are full of old computer monitors -- did you check the back?"

Oswald heard a more distant voice. "Nothing, boss. Nobody in the refrigeration unit. Maybe he got out the back door." Penfield swore and kicked the box Oswald was in. Since the box contained something now, it did not give up a hollow sound which might have alerted Marshall. He heard steps going away from the box. "If he did, he's headed for the cops or the hotel. Drag those two into the freezer and secure them there, just in case the cops show up. Clean this place up, and make it fast. We'll split up and try to catch the kid before he alerts someone. If you all want paid, you'll meet me back here at...midnight.They should be awake by then, and I'll get what I need. Then we'll take care of them. Hurry up!"

Oswald breathed shallowly, quietly, and listened to the work, the bodies being dragged by his hiding place, the rapid footsteps that eventually faded away completely. When he was sure the other men were long gone, Oswald cautiously pushed up on the cardboard and peered out from the box. Thankfully, his hunch was correct; there was nobody there. As much as he was hoping Charlie or Don would be there, he was grateful the kidnappers were gone, at least for now.

But that brought on a whole new dilemma: where did they **go**? There wasn't exactly a lot of options. The cops, if they were anything like the FBI, they'd be canvassing the…. oh, who was Oswald kidding? The cops had probably forgotten about the case since Don wasn't there to hound them. Maybe even idiot cops could catch idiot crooks, though: Hadn't these geniuses considered breaking Charlie's legs before staging his supposed suicide?

He stepped out of the box and tumbled into the darkness. It must have been dusk outside, because there was poor visibility in the warehouse. Hardly any light at all. He stumbled over to another monitor box -- one that actually contained a monitor -- and sat down for a moment, tiredly.

Wait. A new thought had occurred to him – hadn't they said they'd be back, to take care of things once and for all? He flew from the box with newfound energy. He had to find Don and Charlie – they'd know what to do. He stumbled around the place, hoping for a light switch, wondering at the same time if that was too much for hope for.

It must not have been. He found one. He didn't waste time wondering why an abandoned warehouse had electricity, but blinked and scanned the area, looking for anything that resembled a large box or storage unit. Not seeing one, he made his way towards the only door he knew about, deciding to at least get out and call for help while he could. A few minutes later, surprised but heartened, he found himself next to something that definitely could be a cold storage unit of some kind. Excited by his discovery, he pounded on the door and yelled. "Anyone in there?"

His heart soared when he recognized Don's voice. The Agent must have regained consciousness. "_Oswald_?"

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Alan was growing more pissed by the minute. Don was not answering his cell phone. Colby actually had a smirk playing at his face, wondering what was going to happen when they arrived at their destination and Don had lost his cell phone, _again, _and compounded the offense by not being at the airport to pick them up. He loved seeing the team leader reduced to a little boy in trouble with his father.

"No answer yet?", Colby asked, trying to remember that the reason they were here in the first place was much more important than humiliating Don. They had arrived, via taxi, at the police station. Alan had originally said the hotel, but changed his mind when his son hadn't been answering his cell phone.

Alan shook his head. _Damn it,_ Colby thought, starting to get worried now. Why wouldn't Don answer? If things had just gotten away from him somehow, Alan would give him a piece of his mind; Colby wasn't worried about that. But they were all here because Charlie was missing, and Colby was becoming increasingly concerned that now Don was missing, also. Don had only lost his cell phone once that Colby knew about, and that was when he'd been in a SWAT situation where the phone had been blown up because it had fallen from his belt.

Alan didn't bother to answer the question, but countered with one of his own. They had been standing unattended at a counter in the reception area for almost five minutes, and Alan had reached the end of his patience; yet, found himself at a loss. "Colby? Where to now?" Alan's voice sounded surprisingly unsure. Colby had never heard the man's voice waver since he had known him, and it threw him for a minute.

Finally a female officer moved down the counter to them, leaving another civilian looking as confused as they felt. She smacked her gum. "Yeah? Help you?"

Colby fixed her with an intimidating eye and flashed his badge. "FBI. We're here to speak with the officers assigned to the Eppes case."

Instead of becoming more businesslike, the woman leaned on the counter and turned into Chatty Cathy. "Dude! What a circus _that_ was this morning! Rickett and Stanley brought in this kid, Oswald something. They were raking him over the coals pretty good, and then this _other_ FBI agent shows up…" Her face took on the glow of discovery. "Hey! I think his names was Eppes, too – just like the vic! I guess that explains why he was so pissed. Man, I was just glad to see Rickett and Stanley taken down a notch! Not to mention Cap'n James. Shit, was _he_ angry when that Eppes went off on them all! I heard from some guys watching through the two-way that Cap's face actually turned purple when the FBI guy blew his working theory right outta the water and made him look…" She glanced around nervously and lowered her voice. "Well, you know."

Alan had been trying to follow the explosion of information, but found himself lacking. "What was his theory?"

She leaned forward a little more, whispering conspiratorially. "Well, he said that this Oswald kid had killed the missing Eppes because the guy was making moves on him, if you get my drift. You know, because the one missing is older, and in a different class socially. They figured that he had to be interested in the kid, ya know?"

Alan lunged for her, wanting to wrap his hands around her neck, and only Colby's quick reflexes prevented that from happening. Alan fumed. "My son would NEVER take advantage of ANYONE in that way, and he's not…not that…." He was growing flustered. Alan took a breath and reminded himself that even if Charlie _had_ been gay – which Alan was fairly certain he wasn't, having witnessed a number of his son's 'morning-after' breakfast dates – Chicago PD had no right to accuse him of something like that. He allowed Colby's restraining hand to stay on his arm, but scowled at the female officer. "I'll sue this entire department for slander and character assassination!"

She stepped back from the counter and crossed her arms. "Yeah, well, good luck with that," she noted nonchalantly. "That Eppes FBI guy is already threatening to sue for the unlawful detainment of the Oswald kid It's not like we have any money anyway." Her eyes flickered to a place behind Alan and her posture stiffened. "Here's Cap'n James now. Why don't you just take up your concerns with him?"

Alan whirled and confronted a man who resembled a weasel, but sported a gold badge. This had to be the guy. "My name is Alan Eppes, and I want to know what you're doing to find my son! This…this _officer_…explained your theory, and I assure you, Charlie is not gay; not that his sexual preference is any of your business. In addition, he would never act in such a manner – Oswald is simply a young man he is trying to influence in a positive way!" Alan was growing even more furious with himself for defending Charlie. His son did not need defending – he needed finding. He glared at the still-silent Captain James. "I want to see the Chief of Police. This morning I had one son missing. Not only have you not dealt successfully with that, now my other soon is missing as well!"

Colby cautiously entered the one-sided conversation, speaking to Alan. "Knowing Don and his lack of tolerance for incompetence – and his full-on obsession with taking care of Charlie – I'm willing to bet dollars to cheesecake he went off on his own investigation."

"That would have been very foolish." Captain James finally managed to get in a few words. "He's not familiar with our area."

Alan advanced a step, reducing the space between his face and the Captain's to more inches. "Chief of Police. Now."

The Captain narrowed his eyes and Colby saw him finger the gun on his hip. "Make an appointment," he sneered, before he turned and walked away.

After watching the retreat for a few seconds, Alan stormed wordlessly toward the building's exit. Colby followed, thinking as he did that he was beginning to understand where Don got his temper.

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Oswald was near a state of panic for the fourth or fifth time that day. The door to the freezer unit was on some kind of combination time-lock, and after a few minutes of frustrating, pointless effort, Don had instructed him to go back to the hotel and find his father and Colby, who should be waiting for him by now. It was clear that Don still did not trust the Chicago PD.

So Oswald had run from the warehouse, and eventually, got far enough into a more heavily populated area that he found a cab. He had dug around in his pockets and scraped together enough money to get within a few blocks of the hotel, but on the way he became more worried about showing his face there, again. The cab driver had called him a few names when Oswald discovered that he hadn't saved any money for a tip, and he scrambled out of the back seat quickly and automatically started for the hotel.

The closer he got, the more sure he was that he shouldn't go back there. He had heard the guys who had kidnapped them all say that was one of _their_ destinations, after all. He supposed he could go to Chicago PD anyway, but he agreed with Don's assessment. They were morons. He continued walking while he thought. If the men were at the hotel and they saw him, he would surely be captured again. That couldn't be good.

Maybe he could just go away and forget the whole thing. He hated to abandon Charlie, but he didn't know what to do, anymore. Calling Don had been his best and only idea. If he could get to the airport, find the money for a flight to anywhere out of Chicago, he could just disappear. Never be seen again.

No. That would be bad. They already suspected him of Charlie's possible murder, and if he fled town, he'd be arrested. Plus, if Don and Charlie were killed – a possibility that turned his stomach – this Penfield would pin it on him. He couldn't let either one of those things happen. Oswald had to find a way out of this mess.

Any other day, his head would be up and he would be looking at his surroundings. He would be trying to decide which of the passing cars he would buy after he got rich. He would be figuring the statistical odds of becoming that rich before the age of 30. But today was not a normal day, and Oswald was staring at the sidewalk, glum, as he walked toward the hotel.

Nobody was more surprised than he was, when, not looking where he was going, he slammed head-on into Alan Eppes.


	12. Father Knows Best

**WYWH, Chapter 12: Father Knows Best**

When Alan reached to grab Oswald and began demanding to know where his sons were, the poor boy slipped over the edge of panic again. For a moment he thought he was being punished for even considering bolting, after all the Eppes family had done for him. By the time Colby stepped forward, grabbed one of each of their arms and dragged the party to the edge of the sidewalk, under the shelter of a jewelry store awning, he had pulled it together somewhat.

"Oh, man," Oswald started, looking from Colby to Alan. "Am I glad to see you guys! You got any money?"

The question effectively silenced Alan but raised Colby's FBI hackles. "Why?", he asked, speaking roughly. "You in on this? You after ransom?"

Oswald tried to take a retreating step, but Colby tightened his grip on his arm. Oswald winced and paled, appealing to Alan. "No, no, man, you've gotta believe me! Me and Don have been looking for Charlie all day, and we got too close. They got us, too!"

Alan corrected his grammar automatically, before he knew he was going to do it. "'Don and I'".

Colby ignored him and continued to question Oswald. "If they got you, what are you doing here? And where's Don? _Who_ got you, and how?"

As Oswald tried to fill in all the blanks, Colby eventually let go of his arm. Oswald spoke in circles, still too upset to think rationally, but his conclusion got some action. "So I hid in the monitor box, and then I found Don and Charlie but I couldn't get them out. Don sent me after you. We need money so we can take a cab back to the warehouse." Streetlights had come on by the time Oswald had bumped into the men, and now he looked at them worriedly. "We gotta hurry. They said they were going back there at midnight." He looked at Colby hopefully. "They probably want to take out the bodies under the cover of darkness, doncha think?"

Alan staggered as if he'd been hit. After Oswald had indicated Marshall Penfield was behind the whole thing, he had zoned out of the narrative for a while, stunned, but he heard that part clearly.

Colby saw him stumble and barked a command at Oswald. "Hold him!", he said, zig-zagging between pedestrians for the street. He stepped off the curb and started to raise his hand for a taxi when he noticed a middle-aged woman unlocking her parked car. "Come on!", he yelled over his shoulder, as he quickly ran to her, badge and ID in hand. He shoved it in her startled face and grabbed the keys from her hand. "FBI," he growled. "I'm commandeering this vehicle."

………………………………………………………………

The rough transport through the warehouse into the freezer had begun to awaken Don, and the chill inside had finished the job. He rolled over, wincing at the pain in his head and ribs, and thought he saw Charlie and Oswald lying nearby. He blinked until he was less dizzy and nauseous, and decided that it was only Charlie – the two images were beginning to merge into one. Don waited for his vision to settle, and wondered where Oswald was.

Charlie remained unconscious throughout being dragged to the freezer, and dropped roughly inside. Don had just managed to crawl across the floor to cradle his brother and try to wake him up, when Oswald banged on the door. Don carefully lowered Charlie back to the floor, wishing he had a jacket or something for a pillow. Painfully, he got to his feet and staggered to the door to answer Oswald. By the time he had decided the door wasn't opening, and had convinced Oswald to go for help, Charlie was starting to stir.

Don carefully lowered himself to the floor beside him again. "Buddy? Charlie?" He saw that Charlie was shivering, and again cursed his lack of a jacket. Knowing it was hardly enough to make a difference, Don rapidly stripped off his dress shirt and laid it over Charlie. A low moan escaped the younger man, and Don brushed at his hair, taking in the blackening eye, the obviously broken fingers on one hand and the cut fingers on the other. He also noticed again, as he had when he had first seen him in the warehouse, that Charlie was barefoot and both feet were covered in blood. "Ch-Ch-Charlie?", he prodded again, his own teeth chattering now that he had only his t-shirt for protection from the arctic air in the freezer. He rubbed at Charlie's arms through the thin material of his shirt to try to warm and stimulate him.

He felt enormous relief when Charlie's eyes began to flutter; and then concern, as he saw the dilated pupils and lack of focus. Did Charlie have a head injury, too? "Charlie…how do you feel, Buddy?"

Charlie stifled another moan and tried to maintain eye contact with Don, although it was obviously difficult. "Don?", he croaked. " 'Scold."

He was slurring, elevating Don's concern. "I know, Charlie. We're in some kind of refrigeration unit, but Oswald escaped. He got out, he's going after help." He spoke with more conviction than he felt, and smiled. "It's going to be all right, soon."

Charlie drew his feet up toward his chest a little and closed his eyes. "Feet…", was all he could manage, and Don realized that his feet must be – literally – freezing.

Sitting back a little, Don removed his own shoes, took off his socks and then replaced his shoes. Gently, he put the socks on Charlie's feet, noticing the cuts on the bottom. "What did they do to you?", he asked, not really expecting an answer. He was surprised when Charlie half-chuckled. "_I_ did it," he confessed. "Stepped on glass." Charlie pried his eyes open again and tilted his head enough to look down at Don, who was still trying to put his own socks on Charlie's feet. He grinned a little wickedly before he slurred out more information. "Sat in glass, too. Can you kiss it, and make it better?"

………………………………………………………………..

It was 10:15 when Alan, Colby and Oswald reached the warehouse. On the way, they had discussed notifying the police, but all three of them were concerned the bumbling fools would somehow make them regret it if they did. In the end, Colby reminded them that as a federal agent, he had jurisdiction everywhere. Alan and Oswald let it go at that.

As the only one who knew where he was going, Oswald had driven the commandeered vehicle. He committed so many traffic violations on the way, Colby was sure they'd end up with police on their tail anyway. Somehow, they avoided detection, however, and Oswald screeched to a halt outside the warehouse. Alan and Colby were out of the car almost before it stopped. Oswald ran past them, toward a door at the rear of the building. "This way," he called. "The freezer is back here!"

He started to turn the light on again, but Colby stopped him and produced a flashlight. "Don't want anyone to know we're in here," he reminded the young man. Then Colby considered his own words. "Better go move the car out back. We'll wait for you right here."

It turned out to be almost impossible to hold Alan back, now that he was this close to his sons, but Colby managed. "We don't even know where it is," he whispered frantically. "Just wait for a few more seconds!"

When Oswald jogged back inside, Colby breathed a sigh of relief, and he let the kid lead the way to the freezer. When they arrived, Alan started banging on the door immediately, yelling for Don and Charlie. Colby trained his flashlight on the touchpad for the sophisticated timelock and felt fear. They would never be able to get them out of here without blowing the thing up.

Inside, Don had laid down behind Charlie and wrapped his arms around him in an attempt to keep both of them warm. Charlie had been slipping in and out of consciousness, and Don's worry was increasing. When he first heard his father's voice, he smiled, thinking he must be unconscious himself, and dreaming. Then he heard Oswald, too, and his eyes opened wider in fear. Where was Colby? He couldn't believe Colby had let his Dad walk into this hellhole.

He turned his head toward the door and yelled. "Dad! Dad, you've got to leave! It's not safe!"

Finally he heard Colby's voice. "We've got some time, Don. Oswald heard them plan to meet back here at midnight. I've got to try and crack this code, and override the timelock."

Don's heart fell. He had gotten a pretty good description of the lock from Oswald earlier, and the two of them had tried everything they could think of. He didn't think Colby stood much of a chance. Besides, if he and Charlie were in here much longer, it wouldn't matter anyway.

While Colby tried code after code, both alphabetic and numeric, Oswald fed him suggestions and Alan tried to get information through the thick door. Charlie regained consciousness, and was alert enough to understand that a rescue attempt was underway, but he didn't have the energy to yell loud enough for his father to hear him. Don tried not to let his worry show in his voice as he glossed over Charlie's injuries when he described them. The professor had stopped shivering, and a lesser informed man might have been relieved. Don found himself in the uncomfortable position of knowing too much. Charlie's body had ceased trying to warm itself, and was settling into hypothermia.

For almost an hour, Colby tried everything he could think of, most of it twice. Finally, in mounting frustration, Alan called to Don. "Donnie, is your brother awake?"

Don, still holding Charlie in his arms, shook him a little and heard a quiet grunt. "I…I think so," he answered.

Alan's voice became a little louder, and contained the no-nonsense, "I'm-in-charge-here" tone that both of his sons instantly recognized. "Charlie! Charles Edward, I need you to tell me the most important thing in Marshall Penfield's miserable life, and I need you to tell me _now_! Don't make me ask you twice!"

Charlie stirred a little in Don's arms and mumbled into the floor. Even Don couldn't hear him, and had to ask him to repeat himself. "Me," mumbled Charlie, a little louder. "Wants my theory."

A light switched on in Don's head and he yelled at his friend and fellow agent. "Colby! Is there a limit to the number of characters in the word, or number?"

"Probably." It was Oswald who answered. "Statistically, most of these passwords are limited to seven characters."

Don thought a moment, and then felt a hope surge in his chest that he prayed wasn't unfounded. "Try 'cogemer'", he yelled. "For 'cognitive emergence'!"

When he heard Colby's "Damn it!" a few seconds later, Don lowered his head to Charlie's back and felt the hope replaced by a crushing feeling.

He didn't even pay attention when Alan yelled through the door. "We're trying 'cognitv'!" Don was sure he had drifted into unconscious again, and was dreaming the click that echoed in the freezer.

Until he saw the door swinging slowly open, and his father rushing joyfully at him.


	13. Popsicles

**WYWH, Chapter 13: Popsicles**

The three men nearly got stuck in the doorway as they all tried to enter at once. Colby popped through first and dropped to the floor next to Don, who had his arms wrapped around Charlie. Colby tried to pry them away. "Hey, Don, let me see him. Come on, I've got him now, it's okay."

Alan was on the floor next. "Oh, God. My sons, my babies – what did they do to you?" He anxiously watched Colby checking Charlie's injuries and flicked his eyes to Don, who didn't seem to be in that great of shape himself.

Oswald loomed over them and interrupted nervously. "Guys, we've only got 45 minutes. They could start arriving anytime!"

Colby flashed Don and Alan a confident smile, thinking that he should have gone into acting. "He's right," he said. "We need to get Charlie got the car, and warm him up. We can't call the local PD, and there's no time to notify area FBI agencies. If we're going to take down these guys, we're going to have to do it ourselves."

Alan reached out a hand to caress Charlie's hair. His youngest son hadn't opened his eyes since they had stormed into the freezer. "I don't care about them. We have to get Charlie to a hospital."

Don shivered as he addressed his father. "D-D-Dad, Colby's right. We can't let Penfield get away with this. He'll just come after Charlie again."

Alan looked stricken, and Oswald kept looking over his shoulder. Colby took charge, letting his days as a soldier in Afghanistan lead his God-given instinct for survival. He shifted Charlie a little and started to stand. "Alan, you and Don carry Charlie out to the car. It's risky, but if you leave the lights off, you might not be noticed. It's close to the end of the building, in the back. You need to lock all the doors, start the engine and turn on the heater full blast." Colby shrugged off his jacket, and Oswald quickly did the same. "Wrap him up in anything you can find," he instructed, gently laying the coats over Charlie. "Don, if you feel up to it, Oswald and I could use your help back in here when you get Charlie settled in the car."

Although he was team leader, Don was more than happy to have Colby's clear head making the orders. He nodded carefully, so as not to set off the fireworks in his own head. "Absolutely," he answered. He was helping take down Penfield if he had to crawl back inside.

Colby stood, and he and Oswald helped Don and Alan to their feet and get a secure grip on Charlie. The four of them actually carried him all the way to the back door, where Don and Alan took over entirely. Colby found something to prop the door open with so that they could get back in, and he and Oswald started walking back toward the freezer. Colby admired the kid. He was obviously and understandably scared shitless, but he was in for the whole ride. "Oswald; you said you hid in an empty computer monitor box? Show me."

Oswald changed his trajectory a little to go to the front part of the warehouse. "They're over here," he affirmed. "They're not all empty. I just got lucky."

They had almost reached the boxes when footsteps echoed in the warehouse. Colby pulled his gun and shoved Oswald down behind the stack of boxes while he rotated in a crouched circle, looking for the source. Finally, a hoarse whisper was heard. "Guys! It's me!", and Don came into sight. Colby and Oswald stood at the boxes and he hurried to join them.

When he had, Colby turned again to Oswald. "Show me which one was empty; then we'll try to find another one."

Oswald laid his hand tentatively on a box and frowned. "What are we doing?"

"I want you two out here," Colby told him. "We only have one weapon between us, and we need the element of surprise working for us." He glanced around, and made a quick decision. "Oswald, help me stack a few of these monitors. We'll slide one of the empties behind, for you. If my plan backfires and somebody heads back out this way, you'll be watching through a crack in the lid. When his position is right -- spring out like a jack-in-the-box, and dump the tower. At the very least, the element of surprise should disarm him."

Don looked at him and frowned. "This is your plan? What plan? And I'm not hiding in an empty computer monitor box while all the action bypasses me. I came back in to help!"

Colby and Oswald were already starting to build their tower. "Too bad the Whiz Kid can't design the perfect trajectory for this," panted Colby.

Don started checking some of the boxes around him. Several were empty. "Look, you'll never get that very high with those heavy monitors. If we're going for the element of surprise, here, put a few empty ones on the top. It will still have the desired affect. And you never answered me."

Colby paused long enough to toss him a grin. "Always knew there was a reason you were lead agent," he teased. "I'm going back in the freezer. They'll come there to get you guys, and I don't want them to be disappointed!"

Don liked that part of the plan, at least. Maybe this part was okay too, since it would keep Oswald safely out of the way. He nodded. "I'm going in with you," he said. "We know the code now, so Oswald can let us out if something goes wrong. Maybe Penfield will decide to let us freeze to death or something."

"Two points!", Colby crowed after tossing an empty box and watching it teeter on the edge of the tower for awhile before settling. He looked back at Don and raised an eyebrow. "No socks, no shirt, no jacket, possible concussion – you _will_ freeze to death, whether that's Penfield's intention or not."

Don cursed silently when his weakened body picked that moment to sway. He tried to cover by opening Oswald's home-away-from home and gesturing for him to climb in. "I am going," he growled. "Oswald, you got a watch?" Half in the box, Oswald stopped to nod, large round eyes staring at Don. "Give it until 12:30," Don ordered. "If nobody shows up by then, we're outta here. Charlie needs a doctor. We should've just sent my Dad ahead."

"Does he know his way around Chicago?", questioned Colby. "Could he get to a hospital, or direct someone back here?"

Don sighed and didn't bother to answer. Oswald finished climbing into the box. Colby carefully closed the lid and told him to hang on. Then he turned the box on its side, so that Oswald could watch out of the cracks. Don and Colby waited until Oswald's muffled voice assured them he was settled, and headed for the freezer.


	14. The Good Guys Win

**WYWH, Chapter 14: The Good Guys Win**

At exactly ten minutes before midnight, according to the digital clock in the dash, Alan did as Don instructed. He was reluctant to leave the back seat, where Charlie was stretched out under the coats and one of the two blankets Don had found in the trunk, but he had learned long ago to trust his oldest son. So he made sure Charlie was completely covered, including his face. A tiny bit of his halo of hair peeked out, and Alan made a note to himself to use this against Charlie the next time they discussed haircuts.

As he exited the rear of the vehicle and opened the passenger door, Alan hoped now that Charlie would remain unconscious a little longer. He didn't want to think about what would happen if his claustrophic son woke up with his face covered.

Once in the front, Alan killed the engine, pocketed the keys and climbed over the gear shift. He squeezed himself onto the floor of the passenger side. It was a tight fit, and he had to move the seat all the way back, first. As he awkwardly covered himself with the other blanket, Alan was apprehensive. Although he had never exhibited any tendency toward claustrophobia himself before, he started to wonder if there was a genetic latent gene. He wasn't sure how long he could stand this.

He had actually started to hyperventilate a little when the crunch of gravel underfoot made him stop breathing entirely. He held his breath and felt the car shift a little under someone's weight. A voice he did not recognize filtered inside. "Man, what a mess. I think there's some guy in the back seat. Must be living out of his car, parking in out-of-the-way places to avoid the cops. Probably a drunk."

"Or dead," another voice answered, and in spite of himself Alan shivered. "Even a drunk should've heard us by now." The voice became anxious. "Come on, let's get inside. Penfield is gonna kill us as it is."

The car shifted again as the weight was lifted, and Alan heard more gravel crunching as the men walked away from the car. "I ain't telling him about Pete. You brought him in on this, you have…" The voices faded. Alan began to breathe again, and was suddenly very happy under his blanket.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Marshall had approached the building from the other end, and was waiting for them at the back entrance. He had seen them at the car and called softly. "Who is that?"

"Nobody," answered the one who had to tell him about Pete. Why go into details? He was in enough trouble already. Just before the two men reached Marshall, the flutter of paper caught their attention. The man who had not used enough care when tying Oswald – or maybe enough bullets – leaned down and picked up a scrap.

Marshall reached in his pocket and pulled out a mini maglite. He turned on the beam as the men pulled alongside him. "Read it," he commanded.

The big one shrugged and looked down. " 'THIS IS A CHAIN LETTER'," he quoted. "'TO KEEP THE CHAIN GOING, YOU MUST…'" He made a noise of disgust, balled up the paper and threw it halfway across the lot.

Marshall shined the flashlight's beam in his face, causing the man to raise a hand to his eyes. "Why did you do that?" Penfield seemed genuinely upset. "Breaking a chain is bad luck! I did that once in college, and didn't get a date for six weeks!"

"You're kidding," deadpanned the hired help.

His partner, unfortunately, had never been quite as quick to catch on. He snorted. "What makes you think that was because of the chain letter?", he started, then grunted when he felt an elbow in his ribs.

Marshall glared at him furiously before he used the dim light to guide a key into the door. "Shut-up, dimwit! Somebody hit the lights . We've got a couple of Eppes on Ice to deal with." He paused in the open door as if just thinking of something, and looked back at the two men. "Where's the other one?"

The men looked at each other. The big one shrugged again, and 'Dimwit' spoke up. "Well, it's like this, see. Pete, he said he wasn't getting mixed up in no murder. Especially two murders, and one of them a cop at that. He hopped a flight to Mexico." He looked at Marshall hopefully. "Tony an' me will split his pay!"

Before Marshall could react, Tony hit the switch, and the warehouse flooded with light. Penfield led the way to the freezer. "Quite a pair you have on you," he mumbled, and 'Dimwit' looked down at his shoes. They were just some old loafers. Scuffed, even. He didn't see what was so impressive. He hadn't figured out Marshall's comment, yet – and had tripped twice – by the time the three reached the freezer.

Marshall looked at his largest employee. He had the only gun, and apparently the only brain, between the two. Besides, he had an impressive scar running down his chin. Marshall liked to think it was from a knife fight. He stepped slightly to the right of the keypad. "Would you like to do the honors?"

While his partner checked out his shoes again, the man looked at Penfield incredulously. "Are you _sure_ you're a genius?", he asked, genuinely wondering. "I've got the gun. Maybe I should be in a position to use it."

Marshall reddened and tried to hide his embarrassment. "You should have used it a long time ago," he huffed, and he savagely hit the combination.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Inside the unit, Don and Colby heard the activity outside. They had been sitting close to the door, so tightly meshed together that Don would have been embarrassed if he hadn't been so cold. Desperate times called for desperate measures, however. Plus, Granger knew if he ever told a soul about this, he would be cataloging crime scenes every weekend for the foreseeable future. Now, Colby helped Don stand stiffly, and painfully make his way into position. He would be covered by the door as it swung open. Colby quickly drew his weapon and claimed his spot on the wall directly opposite, facing the door.

Marshall pushed the door open and stepped aside, waiting for the gunman to enter first. Don and Charlie should be stalactites by now, but one should never underestimate one's opponents. His eyes widened at the sudden "Holy Shit!", and the sound of a round being chambered. He tried to peer over the big man's shoulder to see what Don and Charlie had managed to get themselves into.

He nearly choked on his own saliva when Federal Agent Colby S. Granger smiled at him. "Think about firing that weapon and I will send you to hell," he promised.

Scarface found himself in a dilemma. He'd kidnapped, drugged and beaten a man, then compounded his crime by kidnapping and beating a cop. It didn't take him long to decide he was in deep shit anyway, and his finger began to squeeze.

Without so much as blinking, Colby buried a round in his shoulder, The gunman screamed and blew back into his partner, knocking them both over. His own weapon emptied an ineffectual round into the roof of the freezer, then flew out of his hand when he hit the floor.

Marshall, enraged, pushed past him. "How did you get in here?", he demanded.; "Where are they?"

At Colby's imperceptible signal, Don shoved the freezer door with more force than either one of them thought he could manage, breaking Marshall's nose and embedding his glasses in his forehead. Penfield howled, and thrust backwards, tripped over the feet of his wounded henchman. He joined the pile of tangled limbs on the floor.

Colby, gun still trained on them, inched forward, while Don hung onto the door, determined to remain standing. "FBI," Granger intoned drily. "It is my pleasure to arrest you. Allow me to recite your Miranda rights. And may I just mention, the next person who breathes finds out just how pissed I am."

Before he could start on their rights, Colby heard Oswald's voice, and saw the young man move into his peripheral vision. "Yeah. I'd pretty much recommend you take that seriously." Oswald shrugged for Colby's benefit, the retrieved gun of Penfield's employee shaking in his hand as he provided back-up. "Sorry. Didn't like it much in that box."

Colby wanted to laugh and at the same time yell at him to drop the gun – the last thing he wanted on his tombstone was "Colby Granger: Accidentally Shot by Geek Superhero." Somehow, he managed to remember that he hadn't given them their rights yet, and while Don managed to make his way over to Oswald, changing places with him, he spat them out. Don had traded Colby's cuffs for the gun, and Oswald obediently trotted up to the stack of idiots.

Finished with the rights, Colby grinned at him. "Go on, kid," he encouraged. "You're an honorary FBI member. Pick someone and cuff him!"

Oswald picked Marshall and twisted his hands behind his back, using the handcuffs with such precision that both Don and Colby wondered how many times he'd been on the wrong end of them himself. "What about the others?", he asked, looking up at Colby.

The gunman was still groaning and moaning as if his shoulder wound was fatal, and his partner just lay dumbly at the bottom of the pile, wishing he had gone with Pete. Once Marshall was secured, Colby advanced a little further and kept the trio under cover. "Assist the gentlemen into the freezer, Mr. Kittner."

Oswald smiled and stood, yanking Marshall up by his skinny arm. He pushed him hard and Penfield fell onto the floor of the freezer. Unable to stop himself with his hands, his broken nose hit the cement and he howled again, curling into a ball. Colby stepped out of the freezer and handed Oswald his gun – the safety was on, but nobody had to know that. Then he used his bulk to roll the wounded gunman inside. The third man, finally relieved of their bodies, didn't even bother to get to his feet. He just begged for them not to shoot, and crawled as fast as he could into the freezer.

Colby stepped up again and grabbed the door. Just before he pulled it shut, he spoke loudly enough to be heard over the howling and moaning. "Relax, Penfield. I may give the local PD the combination."

**_(Don't worry, not over yet...)_**


	15. All Good Things Must Come to an End

**WYWH, Chapter 15: All Good Things Must Come to an End**

Alan, still hunched on the passenger-side floorboard of the car, cautiously lifted the blanket far enough to look at his watch in the moonlight. Charlie was starting to toss and turn on the back seat, moaning, and Don said Alan should get them both out of there at 12:30, if they weren't back. He saw that it was a little past that now, so he tossed the blanket aside and began extricating himself from the floor of the car. He wished again that he had his cell phone. Don's, Charlie's and Oswald's had all been confiscated, of course, and on the way to the warehouse Colby had discovered that his battery had run down, so Alan had given his up, unwilling to send them inside without anything. He wondered, suddenly, if they still made phone booths. His plan had been to drive to the first one he saw, but he couldn't really remember seeing one since the 1990s.

Charlie emitted another moan as Alan practically fell out the passenger door and made his way in an arthritic crab-walk to the back of the car to check on him. If he couldn't find a phone booth, he decided, he would just stop at the first open business he could find. A convenience store, or something.

Before Alan reached the back of the vehicle, the warehouse door opened, spilling out the two federal agents and Oswald. Colby was supporting Don with one hand and holding Alan's cell up to his ear with the other. Oswald walked a little ahead of them. The young man's eyes lit on Alan standing by the car, and he broke into a run. By the time he reached the borrowed sedan, Charlie had roused enough to find the blankets over his face. He tried to fight them off. "Dad!", he yelled, half delirious. "Don! Save yourselves! It's in the mushrooms! They've turned!"

Alan, who had greeting Oswald with a warm hug the likes of which he'd never experienced before – but found himself enjoying – released him quickly and yanked open the door so he could get to Charlie. "Old nightmare," he said. "He's had this one for years."

As rapidly as he could, Alan peeled back the blanket, and one of the coats that Charlie had managed in his struggle to pull over his face, and grabbed his son's arms. "Sshhh, Charlie, calm down. Calm down, son, you're all right. You're all right, there are no mushrooms."

Charlie blinked up at him in a haze. The nightmare faded to be replaced by an even more frightening reality, and he started to struggle again, terror showing in his eyes. "Don. Cold. Help Don. Find Oswald. P-P-P-Penfield…"

Alan continued to speak in a calming, assured voice. "Everyone's fine now, Charlie, Don's coming. Colby's bringing him. He's all right." He glanced up at Oswald, who had rounded the car and crawled in on the other side. "Oswald is right here, Charlie."

Charlie's protégé hovered over the professor and grinned proudly. "Hey, dude. Colby let me cuff someone, and I held a gun, and…and…man, I never got to tell you about this little redhead I met at Hardrock! _Awesome_, dude!"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ambulances had arrived before Chicago's finest. Both Don and Charlie were receiving examinations and treatments in their lighted interiors, doors open, while Alan wore himself out traveling between the two. He spent a considerable amount of time convincing Don to let the paramedics do their job. He was frantic to get to his brother, and fought them every inch of the way. Oswald stayed with Charlie, and Colby helped Alan restrain Don until the police finally showed up.

A patrol unit responding to the call and the detectives assigned to Charlie's case arrived at the same time. Not bothering to hide his disgust, Colby sauntered up to the cars. "FBI, Granger," he said, holding up his ID and badge. "Had a little time on my hands so I thought I'd solve the case for you," he deadpanned. "Dr. Eppes was kidnapped by a long-time academic rival, who was after some new research the Dr. is about to publish. His brother and Oswald Kittner were taken by the same men when they got too close for comfort. I've got the guys on ice inside for you; one if them has a gunshot wound."

The rotund detective had spent half the day being reamed out by his Captain and threatened with demotion, He was still sweating in the cool night air, and he sneered at Colby. "That's ridiculous. One smart guy goes after another, for _a paper_? And you discharged your weapon, Agent? You may be facing charges yourself!"

Even the patrolmen looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "I plugged him in the shoulder in self-defense," growled Granger, "and I have witnesses." He advanced on the man. "Now when I flatten your ass right here with my fists, that may be prosecutable."

Colby looked as if he just might do it, too, so the other detective, tossing a "shut-up" look at his partner, stepped between them. Another patrol car had arrived. "I think you'd better take us inside," he suggested.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Once inside, Colby told them how Oswald had escaped, found himself and Alan, and brought them back to the warehouse. He further noted how the young statistician was able to crack the code on the freezer's timelock. One of the patrolmen issued a low, appreciative whistle. "Damn. I was helping on a case down here in these warehouses a couple of weeks ago. Same thing, remember? Kidnapping, vic in a freezer. Poor bastard died because we never could break the code. Had to wait for the timelock…" His voice faded out at the end and he looked nervously at his partner. He could tell from the looks of the detectives that he was in deep excrement. He swallowed, and wondered vaguely if you could be busted beneath "patrol officer" in the Chicago PD. Meter maid?

Colby, who had been entering the combination into the lock, stopped suddenly and looked down. Despite the watchful eyes of the officers, in a blur of motion he had slammed the sweaty detective back against the wall of the freezer before they could stop him. His elbow to the man's throat was effectively cutting off his air. "Your last vic was found down here and the first thing you did was NOT have this area thoroughly searched?" He was yelling by the end, and pressed harder on the man's neck. "That was a DRY RUN, you idiots, a DRESS REHEARSAL!"

The detective sagged and gagged and as quickly as he had pinned him there, Colby released the pressure and moved back to the lock. The detective was too large for the other officers to keep him from plopping to the floor, but at least they slowed down his descent, a little.

After clearing the keypad, Colby started entering the combination again. When next he spoke, his voice was completely level, and calm, again – yet all the more threatening because of it. "I will not just have your badges," he said conversationally, as if talking about the weather. "Your incompetence endangered the life of a consultant for the FBI, the NSA, the CDC, the FAA and more letters of the alphabet than you probably know between you. He also just happens to be a friend of mine, and the brother of another federal agent." The lock clicked and he stepped back, allowing the officers to take over. "As a veteran of Afghanistan and a federal agent myself, I promise you that when this is over – you will be sharing a cell with Penfield."

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

The parade that exited the warehouse was subdued. Visions of being a cop in prison dancing through their heads, the officers were trying to do everything right, from here on out. Working at McDonald's might not be so bad – as long as they were still on the outside. To cover all their bases, they had read Penfield and his henchmen their rights again, inside the warehouse. Outside, they stopped a few feet from the first ambulance. An EMT hopped out, performed a quick examination, and signed a form that said no injuries were life-threatening, and the suspects could be transported via police unit to Cook County General Hospital.

The officers started to herd them toward the vehicles when Marshall figured out one of the ambulances wasn't for him. "I demad bedical addenshun!", he whined loudly. "I hab a broden dose!"

Alan, who had been watching silently from his position between the ambulances, stepped forward a little and yelled. He had been told that it was Penfield, but until he actually saw him, he couldn't believe it. He had met Marshall way back when Charlie was only a sophomore at Princeton, when Alan had visited him and Margaret. He continued to hear his name periodically, over the years. This was nothing short of insane.

"HEY! Both of my sons are injured worse than you are! Charlie…" his voice almost broke, but he went on anyway. "Why did you do that much damage to my son?", he asked, genuinely confused.

Marshall sneered at him as the police dragged him toward their cars. "Your son stole my life from me! I was supposed to have everything he ended up with! He had to take it all for himself! He should have left me alone, he should have let me have my share! HE STOLE EVERYTHING, he ruined my life!"

Alan took another step and was about to break into a jog, so that he could kill Penfield himself, but Colby managed to grab an arm and stop him. He moved protectively in front of Alan while Penfield continued to sputter as he was being placed in the back of a patrol car. "No, Marshall,"Colby said, smiling grimly after him. "No, you're a real genius. You managed to ruin your own life."

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Several hours later, Oswald had been treated and released, but was still hanging out at the hospital with Colby. Both Don and Charlie had been admitted; Don for 24-hour observation, against his protests. He had finally stopped giving everyone hell and trying to get out of bed and find his clothes, when they wheeled Charlie's bed into the same room, Alan following.

Don looked at Charlie's closed eyes anxiously. "Is he all right? Is he still unconscious? Did anything fall off because of frostbite?"

Alan threw Don a sharp look. "I assure you, your brother is in one piece. Lower your voice, he's just sleeping. They had to stitch up some things, and set his fingers, and run some warm saline for a while to get his body temperature back up." Alan indicated the IV pole attached to Charlie's bed. "That's just your regular antibiotic-cocktail IV, now. They won't give him much for pain, because they don't know for sure what drug he was given." He caught a glimpse of Don's taped ribs under the flimsy hospital gown and frowned. "How are you?"

Don grimaced. "I'm good. I'm only staying here overnight – to keep Charlie company,"

Alan smiled knowingly and moved toward a visitor's chair in-between the two beds. The door opened again, admitting Colby and Oswald, each carrying a paper bag. "Good news, bad news," Granger started. "Cafeteria is open 24 hours, but all we could find was some sandwiches. Hope turkey is all-right." He reached in the bag, drew one out and tossed it at Don. He grunted as he lifted a hand to catch it, and Colby reddened a little, crossing to sit on the end of his bed. "Sorry. Forgot about the ribs."

Don just stared at him balefully while he began to unwrap the sandwich. Oswald advanced, handed Alan a paper cup of coffee, reached into his bag and withdrew another sandwich, offering it to Alan. "Here ya go, Mr. Eppes."

Alan accepted gratefully, suddenly unable to recall when he had last eaten. It might have been on the airplane. He smiled up at the young man. "Oswald, please. I've asked you to call me Alan."

Oswald smiled shyly and looked around for a place to sit. He finally spied another chair near the closet, and he dragged it as quietly as he could into the circle, so that he could see Charlie.

"_Mmwphf_," offered Colby, trying to talk around a full mouth. He swallowed, took a hit off his soda and started again. "Os, I talked to Megan. She's putting you in for a citizen's commendation. I'm not supposed to tell you this part, but she's planning a surprise party already for after the ceremony."

The Eppes men smiled, but Oswald looked a little overwhelmed. His own sandwich lay untouched on his lap, and he reddened in sudden embarrassment. "Oh, geez. Wow. Man, she shouldn't do all that. I was only trying to help Charlie. I wouldn't know what to do, at a party."

Alan watched him carefully. "What would you do at any other party, Oswald? A birthday party, say?"

Oswald shrugged. "Never had one, so I don't know. Grams wasn't much into that sort of thing."

Alan's eyes widened a little, but he kept his voice under control. "You've never had a party? Of any kind?"

Oswald grinned, suddenly remembering. "Me and my buddies, we always have chips and beer when we watch the Superbowl together. Is that a party?"

Colby smiled into his turkey. They were so going to make this a righteous party, for Oswald.

Charlie shifted on the bed and moaned lowly. Alan was up in a shot, almost spilling his coffee. He set his meal down and grabbed a cup of ice chips. He smoothed Charlie's hair and spooned some chips into his mouth. "Take it easy, son. It's all over now, you're safe. Everybody is safe." Oswald had left his chair and was hovering on the other side of Charlie's bed. Alan saw him out of his peripheral vision. He continued to smooth Charlie's hair. "See, son, Oswald is right here. And Don is just a few feet away. Even Colby is here!"

Charlie's half-mast eyes blinked a few times and finally focused, first on his father, and then Oswald. His swollen, cut lip made talking difficult, but he tried. "Dad...Os'wad…" His eyes rolled a little. He was obviously a little loopy from whatever they _had_ given him. "Os'wad, didja 'njy the math conf'rnc?"

"Dude," answered Oswald, while the others chuckled a little, "I had no idea math could get me kidnapped, almost killed and then help me bust the bad guy!" He grinned again, widely. "It was _awesome_, man!"

Colby laughed outright, then, and Don would have joined him if his ribs hadn't protested. Alan smiled and remained the voice of reason. "Oswald, I'm not sure this was a typical math conference…"

Oswald nodded, and turned a little red, again. "Yeah. Still." He looked back at Charlie, who was almost asleep again. "Still, dude, I've been thinking about all you've said to me, and the time you're spent with me." His eyes scanned the room and then landed back on Charlie. "I appreciate everything, man, really…and…and I was wondering…."

His voice faded off and Charlie managed to open his eyes a little wider to search his young friend's face. "Wha?", he croaked.

"Is it too late for me to apply? For CalSci, I mean. That special admittance program you're always going on about."

Charlie tried to smile, which proved impossible. He was quickly losing the battle with sleep, too, and he moved his eyes to his father's. "Don' le'im outta yer sid," he instructed, just before he was finally pulled under again.

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END

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed our long-awaited debut!**


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